Winter
by btyrhrtout
Summary: After the battle that changed the course of history, our heroes are living, loving, adjusting and adapting to life after Voldemort.
1. Chapter 1

The week leading up to Christmas had been, for the most part, bright and happy. Even though Harry had been given a few days off from his training, his time was more occupied than it would have been had he been at the Ministry eight hours a day, sitting in a stale-smelling classroom and learning about what was to be expected of him when (and if, as they stressed repeatedly) he became an Auror.

First, he had gone up north to see Oliver Wood, who was enjoying a bit of fame from his latest successful season with Puddlemere United. They had met up with Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson and spent hours in a small, crowded pub down the street from Oliver's rather impressive flat, reliving key plays and general good times from their days on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

In between rounds of drinks and gales of laughter, there had been silences, brief in length but obvious nonetheless. During these, Harry found himself thinking of the Weasley twins, whose absence was the only thing keeping the reunion from being complete. George was at the shop in Diagon Alley, "working himself mental," to quote Ron. Fred was… well, though Fred was with them in spirit, Harry would have given almost anything to have him with them in the flesh instead. By the looks on the faces of his former teammates, he knew that they were feeling the same way.

Despite that, Harry had a smashing time visiting with Oliver and the girls. When it was time to leave, they all hugged him in turn. Katie, who he saw once or twice a week at the Ministry (she had just started working in the Floo Network Authority office and often passed Harry in the hall or saw him in the elevator), kissed him on the cheek. "Send me an owl if you and Ginny are looking for something to do on New Year's." He promised that he would, if not on New Year's then soon after.

Alicia was next. She threw her arm around him (the other was holding a glass of firewhiskey in the air to prevent spillage) and wished him a Merry Christmas. "You'd better write!" she said loudly in his ear. "You know where to find me!" Harry, in fact, did _not_ know where to find her, but he assumed that Pigwidgeon could. She gave him noisy kisses on both cheeks that knocked his glasses askew (she was a little drunk). He thanked her and moved on.

Angelina smiled at him and she enveloped him in a tight hug. "Take care, Harry." she said, holding him at arm's length like Mrs. Weasley sometimes did, usually before proclaiming that he must not be eating properly. "We'll see you soon." He agreed. There was a look in her eyes that he couldn't entirely interpret, but he had the idea that this was the first night in a long time that Angelina hadn't spent by herself. He squeezed her hand and turned to face Oliver.

Oliver did not kiss him, but he shook his hand heartily and thumped him on the back. "It's great to see you. Come back any time, Harry. You have to visit when the season's on-- I'll get you great seats!" He leaned over and regarded Harry with a serious expression. "And bring George with you next time, will you? I've sent him owls, tried to get him up here a few times. But he always has an excuse. I'm a little worried."

Harry nodded. "I'm seeing him a few days. I'll let him know you're asking after him."

"Thanks mate. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon." At this, he hugged Harry and, once again, pounded him on the back with such force that Harry would have taken out his wand if it had been anyone else.

The next evening, he and Ron had met up with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom in The Leaky Cauldron. Seamus and Dean had been spending a lot of time in Muggle bars over the previous months and kept persuading the others to order ludicrously named drinks from the harried bartender, who had to stop and thumb through an ancient-looking pamphlet each time they called for something new. Seamus was quite partial to something called an Irish Car Bomb, which involved dropping a flaming shot glass of what looked like tan milk topped with cola into a glass of something black and foamy that Harry vaguely remembered as being called Guinness. Over drinks such as these, they talked about good times old and new and traded some good-natured ribbing, especially once Neville admitted that he had spent some time in Costa Rica around Halloween. With Luna Lovegood.

"Luna Lovegood?! Oi, you picked a right nutter for your girlfriend, mate." Ron pushed his fresh, foaming Car Bomb across the table to Neville. "My condolences."

"She's not my girlfriend." Neville said, ears turning red as his former dorm mates hooted and laughed. He finished his drink, and the shot glass clinked against the sides of the empty pint. He frowned into the bottom, but didn't move to pick up the glass that Ron had passed. "Besides, she's nice."

"Sure she's nice. She's also barking." Ron said, seizing his glass back from Neville and gulping down the contents, which looked like they were beginning to curdle.

Harry opened his mouth to switch the focus of the conversation, perhaps ask Neville about his trip, but an errant chuckle escaped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "So what did you do in Costa Rica, Neville?"

The possible implications of this question sent Ron, Dean and Seamus into roars of laughter, and the flush spread from Neville's ears down to his neck, until his face was practically Gryffindor scarlet. However, he seemed happy to tell them about all the interesting plants he'd seen, which he described in loving detail until Ron was begging to change the subject.

As he laughed so hard that tears streamed out of his eyes (Dean had just done a stellar impression of Luna Lovegood on the beaches of South America, trying to catch nargles, followed by one of Ron at the Yule Ball, sulking in the corner), Harry thought, with fleeting yet surprising anger, that this is how his school days should have been, all the time.

Finally, the following day, Ginny came home from her last year at Hogwart's, and he had gone to meet her at King's Cross station. Though she could Apparate, and in fact did so regularly, appearing at his doorstep on random Hogsmeade Saturdays, she had chosen to come home for the holidays on the train-- something about it being her last year. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were on holiday for Christmas, so she was going to be staying with George and Ron in the flat in Diagon Alley.

When she stepped off the train, Harry hung back, watching as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder and made her way through the crowd, stopping every few metres to say hello to someone. Her smile was so quick, so genuine. He felt lucky, and even more so when she spotted him and ran, hair flying back and an enormous smile lighting up her face, landing in his arms and kissing him full on the mouth. He had seen her only ten days beforehand, when she had spent a rainy Saturday sitting with him in his small kitchen, drinking tea with her schoolbooks open, studying for exams in between conversation topics. Still, having her in front of him, home for the holidays, knowing that he would see her nearly every day for the next week… nothing beat that feeling,

"Hi." he said, taking a step back to look at her.

"Hi." she replied, pushing her hair behind her ears with her gloved hands and smiling once again. "Thanks for meeting me here."

"You're welcome."

He took her bag from her and they set off onto the street, chatting as they made their way to Diagon Alley. The sky overhead was a pale gray and the air was cold, sharp, and smelled of impending snow.

"How's your holiday been so far?"

"Good." He told her about seeing Seamus, Dean and Neville, and about visiting Oliver Wood and the girls of Gryffindor Quidditch, skimming over the part where Oliver had expressed his concern about George. Even though Ginny had often mentioned how worried she was about him over the past months, he didn't know how she would react to the news that he was avoiding almost all of his old friends. "Katie told me she went up to Hogwarts a few months ago and caught a match. She said you were nothing short of amazing."

"Did she now? That's sweet of her. How was Alicia?"

He smiled. "A bit tipsy."

"And Angelina?"

"She seemed alright. A little distant sometimes. But good." he added in a hurry.

They were in Diagon Alley by this point, which was filled with all manner of magical folk trying to finish their holiday shopping. Ginny slid her hand into Harry's as they meandered through the crowds. There were many familiar faces in the throngs, most of who stopped for a moment to exchange greetings. Those that didn't stop simply stared, but Harry didn't mind too much. He was happy just to have Ginny on his arm.

The crowd shifted, and she emitted a small squeak. Coming down the alley towards them was Draco Malfoy, wearing a long dark cloak and some sort of fur hat pulled over his pale hair. His face had filled out a bit since Harry had last seen him, sitting at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall after the battle, bleeding from the forehead and looking pale and stricken as people had started bringing in the dead.

On his arm was a girl Harry had never seen before, almost as tall and just as blonde as Draco himself. Her expression was soft, though, her face freckled and rosy-cheeked like she had just ran a kilometer or had a belly laugh. She wore a pink quilted coat and a pastel-striped ski hat that looked suspiciously Muggle, much to Harry's astonishment.

Draco said something to the girl, and she laughed. It sounded like bells. At this, Draco himself smiled. He looked… happy. Harry was gobsmacked. Maybe Draco had changed since that night.

At that moment, an older witch laden with shopping bags darted across the road in front of the couple, eyes fixed on a bargain. Malfoy's female companion crashed right into her, sending packages falling to the street. The blonde girl immediately apologized, and dropped to her knees on the street, collecting fallen items and checking for damage, repairing the broken things with a wave of her wand. Draco, however, did nothing but ask the older woman, in a particularly loud voice, if she intended to watch where she was going in the future, standing with his arms crossed and watching with disdain as the older witch collected herself.

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks. Perhaps change was a slow process for the Malfoys.

"Are your parents visiting Charlie for the holiday?"Harry asked as they continued on.

"No, he's spending Christmas with some friends in Romania. Last I heard, he has some sort of girlfriend."

"Well, Bill and Fleur, then?"

She shook her head. "No, they're spending it with her family this year. I'm… I'm actually not sure where Mum and Dad are. Somewhere strange, Nova Scotia perhaps? I'm not sure. I thought it was odd; they're not wanting to be together this year. But I suppose…." she trailed off, a foggy sort of look on her face as she stared ahead. Harry followed her gaze. Just ahead was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, doing a brisk business on this particular day. However, it wasn't the sight of the streams of people entering and leaving the shop that was extraordinary. It was what lay to the side of the door, beneath one of the shop windows. Ginny broke away from Harry and walked closer.

Piles of flowers lay like snow drifts on the ground, stacked up to the display window on the left of the door and spilling out into the street in front of the shop. The odd potted plant sprouted from the multicolored mound like an oasis. Flickering candles were set along the windowsill and floating lazily in front of the glass, a fair amount of them with ribbons of red and gold tied around them. There were cards and envelopes, some attached to candles or bouquets, others tucked in the decorative iron bars that crisscrossed the front window. As Harry approached, he could see that things like "We miss you, Fred" had been written on them. A large banner was draped over the flowers closest to the door, depicting a red-haired Quidditch player and the words "Fred Weasley, always in our hearts", and a Gryffindor scarf was wrapped around the bottom of a large, leafy green plant.

Ginny was stooped beyond the floral reaches, reading a card that was tucked between the red leaves of a poinsettia. He wanted to say something, but his mouth seemed to have shriveled up.

"That's something, isn't it?"

Harry looked up. Ron stood in the doorway of the shop, hands stuffed in his pockets. "People started leaving flowers there last week. George thought they were just being messy, he tried to clean it up at first." He smiled a bit at this.

Ginny looked up at her brother, who smiled at her ruefully before continuing.

"But the next day when we opened, there was twice as much. And the next day, even more. Every day, there's more. There have been people from all over. People who didn't even know him. And loads of people who did." Ron's voice hitched here, but he cleared his throat and went on. "McGonagall was by yesterday, she left that." He pointed to a very large display of white flowers and ivy, tied with a red tartan ribbon. "Owls have been stopping by at all hours, too." He gestured to a strange yellow and blue flower that looked like the head of a crane. It was growing up out of a clay pot set on the ground, and had turned towards the glow of one of the small candles. "Luna Lovegood sent that one."

They stood in silence for a minute, then two. There was a terrible ache in Harry's midsection, one he hadn't felt this acutely since the summer. Fred Weasley's funeral had been the last, after the dust of the battle had settled. And even though he, Harry, had lost so many people that he had loved in his short life, there had been something particularly appalling about being present while a family that he loved dearly, almost like they were his, buried one of their own, one that had been like a brother to him.

Behind Ron, witches and wizards came and went through the open door, all of them stopping for a few moments to look at the memorial.

"Ron?" A round-faced witch with short blonde hair that Harry recognized as Verity, the Weasley's sole employee, appeared in the doorway. She looked nervous. "Ron, George wants you to shut the door." She smiled quickly at Harry. "He said to let Harry and your sister come inside where it's warm."

"Right." Ron mumbled in reply. He motioned for Harry to follow him inside, and, with his arm around her shoulders, guided Ginny through the door.

The shop was indeed warm, and pleasantly busy. It looked much as Harry remembered it from the last time he had been inside. Suddenly, it seemed like a very long time had passed, though it had scarcely been a year. Behind the counter, George was talking to a pair of young wizards, who couldn't have been older than ten or twelve. He looked very tired, with brownish shadows under his eyes, and very solitary, empty air beside him in the place where his twin should have stood.

He was conversing with the miniature wizards about what products they'd likely require for their second year at Hogwarts, eventually reaching behind the counter and producing two lists. He checked off some items, scrawled something across the bottom of each, then folded them and placed them in each of their bags. Finally, he smiled at the boys and handed them their purchases. "Now, gentlemen, have a happy Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't do." he said with a quick wink.

They said good-bye and exited the shop, waving over their shoulders. George waved back, smiling after them. Then, he turned to Ron, Harry and Ginny.

"Come on, what's this?" he said, smile disappearing as he looked down at Ginny, who was looking solemnly up at him. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

"You look ghastly." Ginny said thickly.

"It's nice to see you too." he replied, looking taken aback as she left Ron's protective grip and moved to George, throwing her arms around his middle and hugging him fiercely. For a moment, he looked stunned, then softened as he wrapped his sister into a hug. "Ginny," he said gently. "Take it easy. It's okay." He looked from Harry to Ron, as if one of them could offer some sort of help. "Let's go upstairs. Get you settled. You've probably had a long trip."

After speaking briefly to Verity, who eyed the crowd with something like terror, George led Harry and his siblings back outside. A light snow had begun to fall, and had covered the memorial outside with what looked like a fine dusting of sugar. They passed it without comment and went around to the back of the shop, where George had taken them upstairs to his very messy flat.

Harry hadn't stayed long after that, though he'd wanted to remain and be some sort of comforting presence. It hadn't worked well, and he'd left feeling like rubbish. He felt as though he, of all people, could offer some sort of advice or encouragement to make the pain a bit more bearable, but there was nothing that crossed his mind that he could bring himself to say out loud. Somehow, everything he thought of seemed trite or insincere.

Sometimes, when he and Ginny were alone, they talked about such things. She sometimes cried when they did, which was at first startling, as it was so uncharacteristic, but had soon come as something of a relief for Harry, as Ginny seemed to find these talks healing and cathartic. It was never easy, but, the last time, she had taken Harry's hand in hers and looked at him, smiling though her eyes still shone with tears. "I know that I'll never, you know, get over it. But I know that he wants us to be happy, and to remember him and laugh. I want to get to that point. And I'm glad that I have you here to help me."

Three times, Ron had broached the topic of Fred with Harry, and they had talked, at length, about his life and death. However, Harry had never talked with George about his twin's passing, and there seemed to be no good way to raise the subject.

A day passed, with an owl (Pig, naturally) from Ginny, who had sent a brief note to confirm that he'd be coming to the flat on Christmas. He'd responded that of course he would be present for Christmas and to let him know if she required anything in the meantime. No sooner had he sent Pig on his way then another owl appeared at the window, even before he could shut it. It was a large tawny that he had never seen before, with a thick brown envelope attached at the leg. Harry relieved the owl of the envelope, and without ceremony, it flew out the window again into the cold.

The envelope was addressed simply to _Mr. Harry Potter _in a familiar script. He frowned at it, and then tore it open. A slender white envelope fell out onto the small kitchen table, and a folded sheet of paper. He raised an eyebrow at the sheet of paper and unfolded it.

_This envelope arrived last week. We trust you know the addressees. _

He lifted the other envelope, which was addressed in blue ink to _Fred & George Weasley, c/o Harry Potter, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_. It had a stamp on it marking at as airmail-- Muggle airmail-- and no return address.Harry stared at it, feeling as though he should know what it was. However, he had no idea. He shook his head and continued reading the note.

_We hope this finds you well. Merry Christmas. The Dursleys._

Harry was astounded. Found him _well_?_Merry_ Christmas? He'd never been on the receiving end of such a sentiment made by the Dursleys. Maybe he'd go visit Privet Drive one day in the new year. Bring Ginny. Just as soon as he finished attending Hagrid's inauguration as Minister of Magic. And afternoon tea at Professor Umbridge's house. And the wedding reception of Professor McGonagall and Lucius Malfoy.

He chuckled a little and pushed the note across the tabletop, turning his attention once more the airmail envelope. Again he picked up and read the address. Who did he know that knew how to use Muggle post, but didn't know that he was living in London? Hell, who did he know that didn't know Fred Weasley was dead? Luna Lovegood? No, that made no sense. She'd been there that night, and at the funeral. Plus, she regularly wrote to Ginny at Hogwarts as well as the Burrow. Ludo Bagman? The twins had written to him during their sixth year. No, he wouldn't use Muggle post and, besides, why would he write to them care of Harry? With each name he thought of, the more unlikely they seemed.

"You stupid git." he said to himself a moment later, having just been trying to remember Dean Thomas's mother's name and wondering if the envelope could have come from her. Well, there was one way to find out whom it was from. And that was to take it with him the next day and let George Weasley open it.

He tossed the envelope on the table and got up, shaking his head. He still had presents to wrap, not the least of which was Ginny's.

Christmas dawned bitterly cold and overcast.

Harry slept late, as he had all week, and left for the flat above 93 Diagon Alley just after noon. Though he could have easily (and warmly) Apparated, he chose to walk. The streets were nearly silent, but, a few minutes into his walk, the church bells began to chime. They tolled with each step he took, and at that moment everything was perfect. Harry felt good, and, for the thousandth time since the previous May, he felt alive.

Another ten minutes into his journey, Harry was feeling a little too alive in the frigid air, and he was happy to see The Leaky Cauldron just up ahead. He rapped on the window as he passed through the alley, waving to the few occupants inside, and, a moment later, was standing in Diagon Alley.

The shops were all closed, of course, and the street was almost empty, but in many windows above the shops lights burned and wreaths hung. Just within sight was the memorial outside of the shop, the enchanted candles like pinpoints in the distance. Harry hurried towards it, his cheeks stinging in the cold and his lungs beginning to burn.

Still, he paused before going around to the side door, saying a silent work of thanks in the stillness outside the shop, to Fred, and Colin, and Lavender Brown, to Lupin and Tonks, Moody, to Sirius, and Dumbledore, and finally, to his parents. Then he disappeared around the corner, leaving Diagon Alley quite empty again.

A large boxwood wreath now hung on the side door, a red-and-white striped ribbon tied around it. Harry smiled, recognizing Ginny's touch, as he knocked. The door flew open a moment later, and there she stood, in a simple brown dress and a light blue shawl that had the distinctive look of an original Mrs. Weasley creation.

"I'm glad you're here." she said as way of greeting.

"Me too."

Ginny stepped back to let Harry inside. The stairway was warm and dimly lit. From above, he could hear Pigwidgeon's excited hooting. She closed the door behind him and kissed him on the side of the mouth. "Did you walk?" she asked, reaching up to touch his cold face with the back of one of her warm hands. The other was firmly holding a glass of something dark, red, and fruity-smelling.

"I did. Wine?" he asked, indicating her glass.

"Mmmhmm. Left over from that bottle Hermione brought over when she got back from holiday. Why did you walk?"

He shrugged. "I just... wanted to. Why are you drinking wine?"

She smiled, a slow, teasing smile. "I just wanted to."

"Oi, Ginny, don't make him skulk around in the doorway." Ron had appeared above them on the landing, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking slightly leprechaun-esque with his flaming hair and the dark green jumper he wore. He smiled broadly at Harry and waved him upstairs. "Hi Harry, Merry Christmas. Come on up."

Harry obliged, making his way up the steps with Ginny behind him. "Merry Christmas, Ron." Harry said, returning the grin as he arrived on the landing and stared through the doorway. Ron seized his hand and pumped it firmly.

"The place looks... great."

It certainly wasn't the first time Harry had been to the flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. In fact, it had only been two days ago that he had been there last. But it was now immaculate, whereas before it had been, quite frankly, a disaster.

Ron had been sleeping on the sofa in the living room since moving in, and consequently his clothes and personal effects were always strewn all around-- on the furniture, on the floor, and, once, a very stained shirt hanging half in and half out of Pigwidgeon's cage.

Now, however, there were no clothes or Chudley Cannons paraphernalia present. The sofa cushions were straightened, the furniture dusted, and the floor swept and scrubbed. Behind the sofa, on the far side of the room, Harry was astonished to see the dining table was covered with a red-and-green plaid tablecloth and set for dinner. He wasn't sure he had ever seen it not obscured by stacks of papers, books, and dirty dishes. The door leading to the small office, which Ginny was using as a guestroom, was closed, another, smaller wreath hanging on it. Through the doorway leading to the kitchen, he could see the surfaces were shining and clean, the sink empty and sparkling.

A small but brightly lit Christmas tree was set up the far corner, next to a window in which candles burned merrily. Paper chains hung around the perimeter of the room, and stockings hung from the mantle of the tiny fireplace, in which a fire was crackling and popping. Even Pig's cage, which was set up on the low bookcase near the door, was spotlessly clean and adorned with a ring of holly leaves. The tiny owl inside was hooting and flapping about excitedly.

"Ginny did most-- ow, that hurt!" Ron was rubbing his side, where his sister had elbowed him firmly in the ribs. "Okay, Ginny did all of it. Cleaned and decorated and everything."

"Well, it looks amazing."

"Anything would be an improvement over how it looked. And _smelled_." she added with disdain.

"What smelled?" George walked into the living room from the hallway at that moment, running his hand through his hair, which was significantly longer now than he had kept it before losing an ear.

"This place." Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. "Before I cleaned it, of course."

"Oh, that was just the aura of masculinity. You wouldn't understand. If you did, you wouldn't have used so much lemon oil getting rid of it. Hey Harry, Merry Christmas." he said, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, George. I almost forgot, I have something for you."

"A present? Come now, you shouldn't have. D'you think Ginny will be jealous?" he teased.

"No, in addition to gifts." Harry said as he reached into his coat and pulled out the mystery envelope.

Looking amused and mildly curious, George took it and turned it over. When he read the address, he looked sharply up at Harry. "What the bloody hell is this?"

Harry shrugged. "I said the same thing. It arrived by owl last night. The Dursleys sent it to me-- it went to their house first."

The elder Weasley stared down at the envelope, flipping it over in his hands and scrutinizing it from all angles, much as Harry had.

"What are you playing at, George? Open it." Ginny said.

"It's addressed to Fred as well." he said in a strange voice.

Ginny looked at Harry in surprise, then handed him her wine glass and went to her brother. "Let me see that." She took it from his hand and read it herself. "To you _and_ Fred, care of Harry? Do you recognize the writing?"

He shook his head. "No."

She handed it to Ron. "Do you?"

He inspected the writing on the front of the envelope, and then started to rip it open.

"What are you doing?!" George said, crossing to his brother in two long strides and snatching the envelope back.

"What? How else are we going to know what it is?"

"I'll tell you. If I feel like it." George replied, folding the envelope and sticking it in his pocket. At almost the same moment, someone knocked on the door outside.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I have this story (and series) pretty well mapped out, but sometimes these things get away from me and go down paths that I don't expect. So we'll have to see what happens. Meanwhile, I think it's only fair to tell you that this story will contain an original character. Of course, I don't want to spoil the surprise, so I won't say too much about him or her, but since some people really despise OCs, I figure it'd be best to come clean now. Assuming that I haven't scared too many potential readers off, I do want to tell you that I'll try valiantly to update every Saturday, and that I plan on having a few significant storylines play out during the course of the tale. Oh, and assuming all goes according to plan, this will be the first story in a series of four. I really hope you like it-- if you do, or even if you don't, here's a subtle reminder to review. :)


	2. Chapter 2

It was Christmas, but Molly Weasley was not feeling particularly joyful or triumphant.

She stood at the window, in her nightgown and robe and mismatched socks, looking out over a beautiful but desolate landscape. The sun was glittering on the snowy ground and on the ocean beyond. Far in the distance, a red and white lighthouse stood out against the pale grey sky. The trees were the dark green of summer, but shone unnaturally due to the ice that blanketed their needles. Everything was still and silent, except for the deep, steady breathing of her sleeping husband.

Behind Molly was a charming room that looked like something out of _Wizard Homes & Gardens_, all crisp linens and comfortable furniture and well-appointed accessories. A lovely mahogany desk near the window held unfinished letters to her children, a tall, sleek armoire against the far wall held her clothes and knitting supplies, and a large bed with a beautifully carved headboard held Arthur. She had come to hate the delightful room and all its comforts in the past few days.

They had decided to visit Nova Scotia rather unexpectedly, after Bill had come to The Burrow in the middle of December and told Molly that he and Fleur would be spending Christmas with the Delacours. Charlie had owled her a few days before to say he would be remaining in Romania through the holidays, and she was in a state.

"But Bill, why?" She despised the pleading notes in her voice, but had to know.

"Because I need to be away, Mum."

"Away? What does that mean? Away from your family?"

He had gotten up from the kitchen table and walked over to where she stood, at the sink, washing dishes angrily, scrubbing them with a sponge like the Muggles did. He had hugged her tightly, her oldest son with the handsome face that hadn't always been scarred. And she had broken down and cried in his arms without really knowing why. The story of her life these days, weeping at the drop of a stitch.

When she had gotten a hold of herself, he had sat with her and talked at length about needing time to heal and time to be in a place away from memories. She had listened to him, wondering just when he had become so wise beyond his years. He had suggested that they, meaning Arthur and herself, take their own holiday by themselves.

"Then, when you're ready, we can start handling issues as a family. We're only as strong as the sum of our parts."

She had cried again at this, picturing her family as a shattered object, broken beyond repair.

After Arthur was home from work, she had sat down with him in their quiet kitchen and told him about Bill's visit. To her surprise, he had seemed to think that a holiday over Christmas was an excellent idea. He even suggested Peggys Cove, a tiny Canadian fishing village that he had seen pictures of at some Muggle newsagent near the Ministry. They had hurriedly planned the details, and had arrived by portkey (Arthur had wanted to take an airplane, but Molly had staunchly refused) two days before Christmas.

Now, here she was. It was just after nine o'clock in the morning, and she had been up since before six, trying to write Christmas letters to her children. In the past three days, she had noticed a few rather disturbing things-- Arthur slept too much and ate too much. She stayed up late and rose early, and only picked at her meals. They rarely had conversations of any great meaning; instead, they spent time together in silence. Not having to mend socks or scrub counter tops or sweep floors gave her too much time alone in her own head, with only her thoughts for company.

She sat back down at the desk, meaning to finish her letters, but mostly thought about her children (and, by extension, Harry, Hermione and Fleur). She wondered what they were doing, and if they were happy or not. She was worried about them, all of them, and, as she stared out to the Atlantic Ocean, she ticked them off on her fingers in order of least to greatest concern.

_Bill_, she thought, _and Fleur_. Bill was tall and strong and capable, both physically and mentally. He had held been at her elbow at every funeral they had attended in the aftermath of that unspeakable night, Fleur on his other side and Arthur on hers. He had been the one to hold her up at the cemetery when Fred was buried, when she had sobbed so hard and hurt so bad that she thought she'd break in two. He had been strong for all of them, had gotten up when George hadn't been able to go on, had even carried Ginny back to The Burrow, cradling her in his arms like she was five years old again.

Molly knew that when her children were troubled, they frequently sought out Bill. Somehow, he was able to shoulder it all, and somehow he was able to take it in stride and not let it weigh him down. Part of it, she assumed, was due to his wife.

For all Fleur's faults and all Molly's distasteful memories of her, she had turned out to be an empathetic, kind woman. When they saw each other, she seemed to know instantly what Molly needed-- if she wanted to reminisce and tell stories about the children when they were younger, Fleur would listen with great interest. If she wanted to avoid memories and talking, Fleur would ask for help with a cooking or sewing project that she " just couldn't zeem to get right". If she wanted to be left alone, Fleur would seek out Arthur or Bill or simply go for a walk by herself.

Their strength of spirit and kindness of character made Molly proud. She sometimes worried that they were not paying enough attention to each other, caught up in the chaos, but was mostly confident that they had everything under control. With this in her head, she was able to finish up a brief letter to them and place it an envelope.

Next came Charlie. _Charlie_, she repeated to herself as she gazed down at the paper in front of her. So far, all she had managed to write was "Happy Christmas". This didn't perturb her as much as it would with another of her progeny. Her second-oldest had left for adventure right after his last year at Hogwarts, having spent the seventeen years prior to going to Romania constantly searching for local danger. And while he was like Bill in that regard (as well as the red hair, naturally), that was where the similarities ended. Whereas her eldest son settled down more with age, Charlie seemed to take more risks with each turn of a year. He was always doing something new, often just to be able to say that he did it.

He frequently sent owls, but they were very rarely longer than one or two lines, just to let Molly know he still had use of all his limbs and organs. In recent months, he tried to write more, and had even included a picture of himself and his girlfriend, Elizabeth, with his last message. She was built like him, compact and wiry, with messy brown hair and a deep tan. Molly though she recognized her from the last time she and Arthur had visited Romania, as the girl who headed the Norwegian Ridgeback breeding team that Charlie belonged to.

After Fred's funeral, he had stayed at The Burrow longer than anyone except Ginny, delaying his return to work by almost three weeks. He hadn't really spoken too much, but sometimes he would come up to Molly and hug her, quickly but tightly, before disappearing to the upper floors or out to the shed again, all without having uttered a word.

Still, Molly realized that his attempts to let her know more about his life were good things, and she knew that, for Charlie, one of the best things he could do was get back to work and adventure. She returned her quill to the paper and was able to churn out a paragraph or two, telling him about Halifax and asking after his dragons, and his friends and Elizabeth. She waved the paper in the air to dry the ink, then folded it, placed it in an envelope, and set it aside with Bill and Fleur's.

_My only daughter_, she smiled to herself, smoothing the half-filled paper on the desk before her that was addressed to Ginny. _And Harry as well, _she added

When she was younger, Molly had been concerned that Ginny would grow up to be a spoiled or weak young woman, considering the fact that her brothers had a tendency to overprotect her or treat her like a princess. As she got older, though, she was happy to see that her daughter was becoming strong and independent. Her brothers started seeing her differently-- less like a doll and more like an equal, especially the twins. Molly remembered fondly one rainy day in April, when a nine-year-old Ginny had come in through the kitchen door, soaking wet and covered in mud. Her nose was bleeding, and there were leaves in her hair.

"Ginny!" she had shrieked. "What happened?"

"Oh, Mum, I was playing Quidditch in the garden with Fred and George! Them versus me! It was great!"

"Your nose is bleeding!"

"George hit me in the face with the Quaffle. I think it was an accident."

Molly had told Ginny to go take a hot bath, and had then marched outside in the rain, with every intention of giving the twins, who were home for Easter break, what-for. She had passed the garden, which had Quaffle-sized dents in the grass and long, muddy furrows that looked suspiciously like they had come from someone dragging his or her (but probably his) feet on the ground when they flew low on a broom. She had burst into the shed, ears burning and fists clenched, and saw two wet, dirty figures with their backs to her, propping three very muddy brooms up in the corner.

"Fred! George!" she had bellowed.

They had whipped around in unison, and she had been shocked to see that both of Fred's eyes were black, and George's lip was swollen and bleeding.

"What… what happened to you?" she had asked, puzzled, her maternal fury quickly evaporating.

"Oi, Mum, we're never playing Quidditch with Ginny again. She's ruthless." Fred had said.

"Yeah, Mum, it was her versus us. And not only did she manage to keep us from scoring any goals, she _also_ caught the Snitch." George had said, wincing a little as he spoke. He'd gingerly touched his lip and came away with bloody fingers.

"But… your faces…."

They had exchanged sheepish looks. "Ginny." they'd responded together.

"Somehow she found time to hit Bludgers too." Fred had added.

Molly smiled, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe as the memory dissolved. Sometimes, nowadays, she fretted over Ginny. Perhaps it was the sight of her in Bill's arms on the way home from the cemetery that had burned itself into Molly's brain, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she sobbed into his chest, her long legs hanging down limply near his shins. Her wails had been heartrending, and sometimes Molly heard them in her nightmares, only to wake very early in the morning with a sick, dread feeling in her stomach and her heart hammering in her chest.

But Ginny's resilience impressed her. She would show up at the house sometimes, having Apparated into the lane at the top of the hill and walked down to The Burrow. When she showed up, Molly could count on her wanting to talk, usually about Fred or George, but sometimes about school or Harry or Quidditch or one of her other brothers. She would listen to her daughter, very often over a cup of tea, and though the things she said occasionally made Molly's soul ache, she also knew that Ginny was in a healing place, and that she was well on her way to returning to something like normalcy.

Molly wasn't exactly sure what role Harry played in that, but it was no secret that she herself cared greatly for him and was quite pleased that Ginny had taken to him as well. In the early years, she had actually expected Hermione and Harry to get together. She was thrilled that things had worked out this way, and though they were still young, she often reminded herself that she hadn't been much older when she got married.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Molly." she whispered to herself as she added a few X's and O's to the bottom of her letter before folding it and putting it into the envelope addressed to Ginny, setting it to the side with the others.

_Ron now_, she thought, _and Hermione. _Ron had moved in with George very early in June. She didn't know exactly how this had come to be, but she had the impression that Ron had gone to him and told him that he was moving in and would be helping out at the shop, and George's protests had been too half-hearted to dissuade him. It wasn't what she had expected, but, then again, Ron had been full of surprises in recent memory.

So she had helped him pack his trunks on that bright day on the cusp of spring and summer, happy for a reason to stop thinking of her son's casket being lowered into the ground. She'd stripped the sheets off his bed so they could be washed, and listened to him talk about the letter he'd sent to Minerva McGonagall, asking if it would be possible for Harry, Hermione and himself to sit for their N.E.W.T.s during the coming year. She'd folded his socks as he told her about wanting to work for the Ministry eventually, but, for the time being, he wanted to help out at the shop. She'd been using her wand to extract years of detritus from beneath Ron's bed when he had mumbled something else.

"What, dear?" she had said, looking up at him.

"I'm scared, Mum. I'm scared for our family. And I'm scared for George. That's why I'm going to stay with him. I don't want him to be alone too much."

Molly had been unable to respond at the time, and even the memory made a lump rise in her throat. She knew, of course, of Ron's fierce loyalty, as evidenced by his actions over years of friendship with Harry, and she was well aware of his dedication to the family as well. But the quiet, unassuming way in which he had assumed the role of George's sentinel stunned her. She had anticipated that it would have been Bill to take up temporary residence at 93 Diagon Alley, or to move George out to Shell Cottage for awhile, but Ron seemed to know that what he needed was to stay in the flat and face the reality of carrying on as a singular instead of a plural. And he had elected himself guardian.

Sometimes Molly worried that he didn't take care of himself enough, that he was too busy looking after everyone else, but then she would see her youngest son's face when Hermione walked into the room, and her heart couldn't help but swell with joy as well. Ron was in love, and though he sometimes struggled with life in the wake of Voldemort, that fact made everything that much easier to bear.

He had made a good choice, too. Despite the fact that she could still be bossy, Hermione had matured into a lovely, intelligent and responsible person. She was always happy to help Molly whenever she was at The Burrow, whether it was taking over the wearisome task of making the Muggle-style mashed potatoes that Arthur was so partial to, or keeping the boys from getting into trouble out in the garden before supper. She already thought of her as a daughter, and hoped that one day Ron would make her a part of the family in name as well.

Re-inking her quill, she added another line onto her letter to Ron and Hermione, making sure to send her regards to the Grangers, then folded it and tucked in securely in another envelope, which she put with Bill & Fleur's, Ginny's, and Charlie's.

_And onto Percy_, she thought, debating whether or not to add "and Penelope" to his letter. She knew they lived together, but sometimes it seemed more like a convenient arrangement as opposed to a precursor of betrothal. She opted to keep the salutation to Percy only, reminding herself to add good wishes to Penelope and her family at the end.

Molly wasn't entirely sure as to Percy's state of mind. When they saw each other-- he had taken to asking her to meet for lunch in London every few weeks, which she agreed to eagerly-- he seemed well, happy to talk at length about his work at The Ministry and his thoughts on Kingsley Shacklebolt and the sweeping reforms that were taking place. Conversation rarely strayed from these topics, but when it did, Molly grew concerned. He stated his thoughts on Fred matter-of-factly, even stiffly-- "I find myself missing him"-- but when he spoke of the circumstances surrounding his brother's death, he seemed angry at himself, as though he felt responsible. This attitude frightened her, and when she tried to question him further, he would clam up.

The knowledge that he was spending the holiday with Ron, Ginny, George, Harry and Hermione made her feel better, because it wasn't that far in the past that he had sent his Christmas jumper back with no note. She held out hope for Percy in the new year, and, as she scrawled a line about passing her thoughts on to Penelope and the Clearwaters, made a vow to herself that she would try again to get him to talk. When the ink was dry, she folded the letter as she had the others, and added it to the pile.

_George_, she thought simply, staring down at a fresh sheet of paper. After two false starts and one letter too smudged by tear stains to be legible, she was trying again. However, when she conjured up his face in her mind, her eyes filled with tears once more and she had to put down her quill.

It scared her more than almost anything, the way she seemed to lose control when she looked at George. She couldn't look at him without seeing Fred, couldn't think of one without thinking of the other. Scared her more than almost anything, it did, except trying to imagine how he must feel when he looked in the mirror.

Imagine was all she could do, because he wouldn't speak to her about his twin. She had tried, multiple times, to talk to him. The last time he had come home, she'd even grabbed him by the shoulders and cried, had begged for him to tell her what was going on in his head, but he had simply refused.

"No, Mum. I don't want to talk about it. Not with you, not with anyone."

Whereas Ginny had gone to pieces at the funeral and then begun to heal, George had gone in the opposite direction. On that warm spring day, he had still been cracking jokes and telling stories-- a one-man show. He had sat on the sofa with her and looked at pictures, had carried his brother's casket to the cemetery, had even gotten up in front of those gathered to lay Fred to rest and eulogized him. She had caught him smiling on the long walk back to The Burrow, and it had filled her with a bittersweet sort of warmth. But in the days and months that followed, he had retreated further into himself until he barely resembled her son. He still made jokes, but they seemed like they were part of an act. He seemed like he had lost a large part of his identity. And, Molly conceded, he had.

He did not look well. Like her, he had lost weight in all the wrong places, and he looked pale. Sometimes there were brown shadows under his eyes, as though he had gone a few days without sleep. Molly kept after Ron, asking if George was drinking too much or crying in his sleep or going long stretches without eating. Ron's responses weren't immediately alarming; no, he wasn't drinking his meals (though he did imbibe more firewhiskey now than he had in the past), he ate a fair amount, and when he went to bed, Ron sometimes listened at his door but heard nothing. It was what Ron _did _notice-- that George worked too many hours and frequently stayed in the flat, ignoring owls from his old friends, eschewing the company of people like Lee Jordan to spend his time by himself, doing paperwork-- that distressed her more.

If he'd had a girlfriend, or something else to get him out of the house, perhaps she wouldn't have been so terribly concerned. But Fred and George had never been much for romantic relationships, preferring to spend their days scheming together instead of impressing girls. She had been so happy, so relieved, to hear that George had extended invitations to Christmas dinner to his siblings, and had written him a two-page letter with suggestions, instructions and recipes. At least he wouldn't be by himself this year.

When she felt ready, she dashed off a quick but loving letter to George, folding it and sealing in into an envelope with a kiss before the tears could come. But instead of gathering the letters together and getting ready to send them, she re-inked her quill and pulled out one more sheet of paper.

The tears were already falling as she thought of him. _Fred_. It didn't matter how smeared and unreadable this letter became, though, as no eyes would ever see it. She pressed her quill to the paper and wrote furiously, until she couldn't see any more because she was crying so hard.

_Dear Fred_, it read.

_How terribly unfair it is that you have been taken from us. How wrong it is that George is left here by himself. He is so lonely without you. I cannot begin to tell you how your brothers and sister feel without you. The day that we buried you was the worst day of my life. Your father and I hope every night that when we awaken the next morning, it will all have been a bad dream. I can never be complete without you here. I miss you enormously, every day and night I feel a hole in my heart that aches for you. I miss your pranks and your mischief and your humour and everything that made you who you are. Even though I take small comfort in knowing that you are with Fabian and Gideon now, there are days when I think I cannot live without y_

It trailed off here, covered in wet spots and ink splotches. Molly sat with her face in her hands, crying hard. Sobs wracked her body and she breathed in ragged, hiccuping gasps.

In the bed, Arthur stirred. He rolled over, opened his eyes, and blinked a few times as he figured out where he was and what was going on. At the desk near the window, he saw his beloved Molly and the condition she was in.

In an instant, he was out of the bed and across the room. "Molly." he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, still sobbing, and clung to the front of his pajamas. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as she cried, staring down at the top of her head and rocking her gently back and forth, as he had seen her do so often with the children.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I really love Molly Weasley. "Fun" fact: she's the default picture on my Myspace, Julie Walters from _Chamber of Secrets_. Maybe it's because we're both moms, but I like writing from her perspective, even when she's feeling sad. I'm interested to see what kind of things are going through her head when we next meet up with her.

This chapter is kind of short, but Chapter Three will be rather epic. Be prepared.

Inspired by one of my favorite HP authors on here, Kerichi, I'd like to take some time now to say thank you to everyone who gave such kind reviews on the last chapter, and also my other story, entitled "Fred's Funeral". There are so many awesome writers and stories on this site, I'm surprised that people are actually reading my stuff. So, for Chapter One, thanks to Amaherst, LauraWalden, Principesa and TayliaNINJA. Hope you dig Chapter Two. And for "Fred's Funeral", a thousand thank-yous to Writer Samhain, greeneyeswhitedragon, LauraWalden, Fantasyfan4ever, lilalex13, LilyPada94, luft, HPFanFictionFan, ImagingThings, Steven Carnell, babes412, equal-opportunity-candy-eater, Bad Mum, shortee962, Avindara Nirvene and JJ Rust.


	3. Chapter 3

"That must be Hermione!" Ron said excitedly, the envelope momentarily forgotten. He went downstairs to let her in.

"Harry, can I get you a drink?" George asked politely.

"Sure."

"Butterbeer, or do you want wine too?"

"Butterbeer, thanks."

George nodded and went into the small kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator and noisily rummaged around, though there were half a dozen bottles on the shelf barely an inch from his nose. He shut the door and went back out into the living room, where a frenzy of Christmas greeting was occurring.

"George! Happy Christmas!" Hermione Granger stood in the middle of the living room. She was wearing a long dark blue coat and white scarf, and clutching a large red shopping bag. Her hair was cut shorter and she looked quite stylish, vastly different from the bushy-haired preteen that had been sorted to his House table.

"Thanks, Hermione. Merry Christmas." He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and then headed for the staircase.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Downstairs to the store room. I forgot to bring up the butterbeer this morning."

"I thought you did?"

"No, must've forgot. We've got firewhiskey and wine, pumpkin juice, some pretty elderly gillywater, but no butterbeer."

"I'll go get it."

"No, that's okay. Stay here. Why don't you be a good host and take some coats? Harry's been wearing his for ten minutes now."

"Oh. Right."

George descended the stairs and went outside into the cold air. He hurried around to the front of Number 93. The memorial had grown overnight, it seemed, new candles and fresh bouquets amongst the others. He glanced at it for a second, then unlocked the door to the shop, pulling it closed behind him as he darted inside. He went through the darkened shop and into the back room, where he closed the door and pulled out the envelope from his pocket.

Once again, he studied the front. The penmanship looked vaguely familiar but yet utterly foreign, and as he held the air mail envelope, he had the strangest feeling as though he knew who had sent it.

Finally, with a sigh, he finished where Ron had left off, tearing open the side of the envelope and shaking out a sheet of lined paper.

_Dear Fred & George,_

_Hello! I know it's been ages since I last wrote, but I wanted to let you both know that I've been thinking of you and wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year._

_How have things been with two of you? I've been well. Back in New Jersey now, but I had been living in California for awhile. It was great. A lot different, ya know, but I still enjoyed it. For a year or so, I wasn't dancing, but I'm back to it now, a few times a week. I also have a 'real' job. How about you two, what have you been up to?_

_I'm actually going to be in London from the 24__th__ to the 29__th__ of December. Do you remember Katie? She's the cute Asian girl that Harry liked so much? Well, her and I have kept in touch over the years and she's getting married on Saturday, so I'll be in town for the festivities. I'll be in London by my lonesome. I'm sure you guys have things to do for Christmas, what with that huge family of yours, but if either (or both) of you would be into meeting up with me any time that week, that'd be awesome. _

_I'd love to see you again (either or both!) and I'll have nothing to do otherwise. I might pick up a couple nights at a club in London, but I haven't decided yet. Call my cell if you find yourself with some time on your hands, 609-555-7177. _

_Merry Christmas and Happy New Year if I don't talk to you. But I hope I do._

_Looking forward to talking to you,_

_Paige (aka Roxie)_

George was inexplicably relieved, and also feeling a bit foolish for not recognizing the envelope for being from that Muggle girl that they'd met a few years ago. _The stripper_, he thought with a wry smile. In the three or so years since they'd gone to the club she was working at, she'd written to them, always both of them, three or four times. Fred had responded to her each time, for some reason, but he couldn't remember the last time they'd gotten a letter. It had to have been at least a year and a half, probably more.

He went to crumple the paper in his fist, but stopped. A picture had suddenly popped into his head, of a moment almost three years gone, in which a pretty brunette in an absurd purple fur coat was chatting animatedly to Ginny. She had reached over the table to shake his sister's hand, and then Ginny had indicated her brothers, Ron and "the twins."

"Ah yes, and the twins." the brunette, Roxie, had said, giving both a rather salacious smile. Both had responded with an identical eyebrow raise, and she had winked and turned back to Ginny.

He remembered how, barely an hour later, the same girl had been dancing over him to some loud, bass-heavy song about getting low, so close that barely a whisper could fit between them. Eventually she had turned to face him, had clasped her hands around the back of his neck and smiled down at him as she straddled his lap on the chair, then stolen his beer from the table behind him and drank it down in one gulp. He hadn't been able to stand up for awhile after that, though he had been able to carefully extract his wallet from his pocket and pay the girl to perch on Ron's lap for awhile, much to the chagrin of Hermione and the amusement of the rest of the table.

He remembered that, as they were leaving, the brunette and her friend Brody, with short black hair and arms covered in bright tattoos, had come out onto the street after them. They had stolen the picture of themselves that had been on the counter in the foyer, and Roxie had slipped it into the pocket of Fred's coat.

"My real name's Paige." she had said, shivering in the freezing air, wearing only her black bra and thong and knee-high boots beneath the purple coat.

"And she's always wanted a pair of hot British twins to call her own." Brody had teased, while Roxie/Paige had smacked her away.

"Don't listen to her. I have a boyfriend. But I did have fun with you all. Can we exchange email addresses?" she had asked.

Fred had told her that their boarding school didn't have email (ingenious, considering they didn't even know what email was), but had given her the Dursley's address and told her to write care of Harry. She had hugged them both and the girls had run back inside. George had proclaimed the impromptu trip into Muggle London to be a success. Later, at Grimmauld Place, when Kreacher had called Fred and George unnatural for the fiftieth time, Fred had winked at George and said "Sometimes being unnatural has it's benefits. And, quite honestly, Kreacher, George and I have come to terms to that."

The storeroom suddenly swam out of focus. George was almost surprised to find that this series of memories, which had started out so promising, had made hot tears stab the corners of his eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and tucked the letter into the pocket of his pants again.

He reappeared in the living room a few minutes later, a box of butterbeer in each hand. Ginny and Harry were sitting on the sofa, chatting with Ron and Hermione, who were settled into armchairs opposite them.

"What took you so long?" Ron asked, watching George cross into the kitchen.

"Was I long?" he replied mildly, putting the butterbeer into the refrigerator and getting one for Harry and one for himself. "What'd I miss?" he asked, gesturing for The Chosen Couple to move down so he could sit on his own sofa. He handed off the spare butterbeer to Harry and settled in.

"Nothing much." Hermione replied, sipping delicately from a wine glass in her hand. "I was just saying how ghastly my weekend was. My cousin is getting married in the spring, to an oral surgeon. Naturally, she asked me to be in the wedding, and naturally, it's a disaster. We were at the bridal salon for four hours on Saturday! Four hours!"

George was about as interested in bridal salons as he was in Percy's thoughts on Knut counterfeiting, and his mind began to wander again, first to business, then to Quidditch, and then once more to the writer of his no-longer-a-mystery letter. As he recalled, she seemed rather flexible. He dwelled on this particular character trait for awhile, nodding mechanically as Hermione continued to talk, finally paying attention again when she mentioned the words "mobile phone."

"A what?" he said.

"Mobile phone." she repeated, leaning over and digging into the brown leather bag on the floor by her feet. From it, she pulled a small, sleek, bright pink device and flipped it open, revealing a screen on one side and rows of numbered keys on the other. She passed it to Ron so he could examine it. "Very popular with Muggles. Your dad would probably love it."

"What is it?" Ron asked, flicking the screen with his fingers and passing it to Ginny when it failed to amuse him.

"It's a telephone. That you can take with you." Hermione replied.

"It's cute." Ginny said, offering it to Harry for his inspection. He shook his head and she handed it over to George. "Do you think I need one? So I can call you?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't need one-- you can Apparate, and there's owls, and… well, I don't even have a telephone."

"Why do you have one?" George asked Hermione, turning it over in his hands, surprised at how light it was.

She shrugged. "Mostly so I can talk to my parents, since I'm so busy at work these days. Even though my cousin is starting to call me every day as well."

He nodded, wondering briefly if there was a way he could use it quickly without them noticing. Obviously not with this lot. Plan momentarily foiled, he handed it back.

There was a moment of silence. Hermione exchanged looks with Ron, Ginny, and Harry, then took a deep breath and swivelled in her seat to face George. He groaned inwardly. This did not bode well. He shot his brother a significant look of his own, then turned his attention to Hermione, a pleasantly vacant expression on his face as though he had no idea she now planned on having A Serious Conversation.

"George?" she began, giving him a sweet, understanding smile.

"Yes, Hermione?" he responded in the same voice, matching the incline of her head and her smile almost exactly. If this was the way things were going to go down, he might as well have a bit of fun at her expense. Over her shoulder, he saw Ron trying to cover up a grin with a large, fake yawn and a nose-scratch.

Her features darkened a bit as he mocked her, but she pressed on. "You know that I care about you--"

"And_I _care about _you_." he interjected, tilting his head forward and raising his eyebrows in his best imitation of romance-novel seduction. Ron let out a bark of laughter that he tried to mask with a coughing fit. On the sofa, Ginny and Harry both pressed their hands to their mouths to keep from smiling.

She frowned, but still continued. "Yes, well, I just wanted to let you know that everyone in this room loves you very much--"

"Why Harry, I had no idea!" he said, turning to look at Harry, a look of exaggerated shock on his face. "To think, all this time you were seeing Ginny just to get close to me!"

Ron howled. Ginny took a quick sip of wine, which she choked on. Harry was actually biting the side of his hand to keep from laughing. And Hermione sat back, folding her arms over her stomach and crossing one leg primly over the over, looking darkly first at George, then at Ron, who was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Honestly, Ron, this was your idea in the first place!" she said angrily. "I don't understand why you're encouraging him!"

George suppressed a grin. "Come on, Hermione, I'm just ragging you."

"And I'm trying to tell you that we're _all_--" At this, she looked in turn at Ron, Ginny and Harry, as though they'd betrayed her somehow. "--very concerned about you."

"Well, there's no need to be."

"Of course there is!"

He sighed, tenting his fingers together. Apparently he couldn't distract them with his razor-sharp wit. "Look, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I'm telling you that you don't have to worry about me."

"So I suppose working sixty hours a week, avoiding your friends, and spending the rest of the time either drinking or sleeping _isn't_ cause for concern?

"Avoiding my friends? What do you think you are, my next-door neighbor?"

Hermione did not answer. Instead, she turned to Harry, nodding at him.

"I went to see Oliver Wood this week." he said quietly.

"Oh, how is Oliver?" George asked with forced casualness, having a fairly good idea what was coming next.

"Fine. But he told me that he's sent you at least half a dozen owls, inviting you up to Puddlemere for the weekend. And you haven't responded."

"I've been busy. In case you didn't notice, the shop doesn't run itself."

"Katie Bell told me that she and Alicia came to see you at the shop in the fall, and you all but accused them of stealing to get them out the door." Ginny said.

"Well, I'm sure she didn't mention that they came in the day before the Hogwarts term started-- one of the busiest shopping days of the year." This wasn't exactly true, they had come in about a week before the term began, but he _had_ been busy, and, what was more, he hadn't been able to stomach the way they looked at him, with somber faces and teary eyes.

That scared George-- no one had ever looked at him like that before Fred had died. People used to look at him and share mischievous grins, or laugh until they cried (or, in one memorable case, laugh hysterically until they vomited). But then, it had never been just him before. By himself.

George realized he had let a good thirty seconds lapse since he had begun his explanation. He saw Ginny and Ron look at each other. His sister looked frightened. Shaking his head, he pressed on. "Sorry, woolgathering. Anyway, Ron wasn't working here yet, and between Verity and I, we must have seen five hundred customers that day! I didn't exactly have an hour to spend listening to them--"

"You don't talk about him." Ron said suddenly.

George trailed off in mid-sentence, looking at Ron with a face stuck somewhere between contempt and confusion. He hadn't expected his younger brother, of all people, to cut directly to the point of the conversation, especially not this quickly.

Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but caught Ginny's eye and closed it again. They were all looking at George, who sat back against the sofa and gazed at the floor, determined to make one of them speak first. A minute became two, then three, and the only sound was that of Pigwidgeon softly rustling in his cage. When it became obvious that none of them would break the silence, he spoke quietly, but firmly.

"If you're all sitting here waiting for me to unveil some great revelation about why I don't like talking about my dead twin, you'd best get comfortable. And if you're waiting for me to start leaking at the eyes like some wet lettuce--"

"No one's asking you to cry in front of us." Ginny said gently. "It's not what anyone's here to accomplish."

"Good, because it's not going to happen."

"We just want to tell you that we're--"

"Worried. I know."

"I was going to say we're--"

"Here for me. I know that too."

There was a sharp knocking sound from the stairwell, and the sound of the flat door opening and closing.

"Hullo! Hullo! Happy Christmas!" Percy Weasley's voice sounded unnaturally loud and cheerful as he ascended the stairs.

Elated by the distraction-- Percy was at least as effective as a Dungbomb, and caused less damage than a Decoy Detonator-- George jumped to his feet and was the first to greet his brother as he appeared in the living room, holding a large box.

"Percy! Nice to see you, Merry Christmas, come in, come in." he said heartily, practically shoving Percy further into the room. Percy gave him a surprised look, but shook his hand and handed him the box.

"George, if you could, put this someplace. There's presents in there, and also a six-pack of butterbeer at the bottom.

"Thanks!" George said loudly, rummaging through the box until he came up with the butterbeer. He put the box under the Christmas tree, along with Hermione's red shopping bag and the rest of the gifts, and took the butterbeer into the kitchen as Percy greeted everyone else.

He was trying to find a place for it-- the refrigerator was currently stuffed with food, as were the cabinets-- when someone spoke behind him. "Oi." Ron stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, bearing an armload of empty bottles and a sheepish expression.

"Just line them up over there." George directed, turning back to the open cabinet. It was time to start making Christmas dinner, and he supposed he'd better get ready. "We'll have plenty more by tonight."

Ron did as instructed, then hovered uncertainly by the rubbish bin as he watched George pull food out and spread it out on the counters. "George?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For… just now. I don't want to embarrass you, mate. I just want to… help."

George said nothing. He couldn't think of an appropriate response. After a minute or so, Ron moved to exit the kitchen, but then he called for him to stop.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to help?"

Ron looked surprised, but nodded. "I do."

"Alright then. Get to work on these." He thrust a large bowl of sprouts at Ron, smirking as realization dawned on his younger brother's face.

"But--"

"I could _really_ use your_help._" he continued in a syrupy imitation of Hermione's tone of earlier, throwing in a few bats of his eyelashes for good measure.

"Git." Ron muttered, but set himself up near the sink and began the tedious process of charming the potatoes to peel themselves.

"What can I do?' Ginny appeared in the doorway, surveying the meal preparation in the kitchen. She raised an eyebrow at George, who was currently muttering over the turkey while a jet of thick red goo emitted from his wand, running down the sides of the bird and into the pan below. "What are you doing there?"

"Charm-basting this ruddy thing. Mum sent me an owl about it last week."

"Well, where's the note?"

"That's the thing. I've lost it."

She approached the turkey, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Hold it a moment." she said, reaching forward and dipping her finger in the red sauce. She brought it to her nose, sniffing. "This is ketchup! You can't baste a turkey in ketchup!"

"Baste a turkey in ketchup? How revolting." Hermione had wandered in from the living room at that moment, and joined Ginny and George, who were clustered around the pan containing the turkey and a gloppy puddle of ketchup.

"Maybe we'll take over the turkey." Ginny said, edging George out of the way. "You start on the stuffing."

"Alright." George said easily, only too happy to leave the turkey-trimming to the girls. He settled himself at the counter near Ron, who was glaring down at a potato in the process of skinning itself-- which it was doing very, very slowly. "It'll be your birthday before you have those ready."

"Shove off. I can't make them go any faster."

George grinned, and turned back to his own work. He had barely flicked his wand over the bread cubes when Percy strolled into the kitchen, surveying the goings-on.

"Oh, is anyone working on the mince pies yet? Traditionally, that's been my job every year."

_That you weren't playing at not being part of the family_, George thought, but just nodded and said jovially, "All yours, Perce!"

"I need something to make." Harry spoke up as he entered the kitchen, which had become rather cramped. Ginny and Hermione were set up on the far end of the counter, by the window with the turkey. George and Ron were closer to the door, and Percy was standing at the tiny kitchen table. "You've abandoned me out there."

"Oh, you've done enough this year, Harry." George said airily, pausing for a moment to admire how effectively the _sectumsempra_ curse was dicing the celery for the stuffing. "You know, saving the world so that we _could_ have Christmas. Why don't you just toddle off back to the living room and have a rest?"

"Don't be a prat, George." Ginny interjected, brow furrowed in concentration as she used her wand to siphon the ketchup off of the turkey. Beside her, Hermione was dusting it with herbs with one hand and moving her wand over it with the other. "Harry, why don't you help Ron with the potatoes? It'll free up some counter space once they're peeled and on the stove."

"What's that you're smothering the turkey with? Something more appetizing than what it looks like, I hope?" George asked, sliding over so that Harry could join Ron at the sink. He jabbed his wand toward Hermione's, which was issuing a stream of golden liquid over the skin of the turkey.

"Butter and chicken stock." she replied.

"Well, that's comforting, because it looks like p--"

"So, George, how's business?" Percy asked quickly, looking up from scooping large spoonfuls of mince into the empty piecrust in front of him.

"Busy. I'll be happy now that the holidays are over. The look on Verity's face when we're busy gives me reflux."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, if there's more than two people in line for the register, she gets this whole baby thestral thing going-- all knock-knees and big eyes. One day I'm almost afraid she's going to go into the storeroom and come out with a slab of raw meat and start weighing into it." He mimed a thestral tearing into a dead animal.

"Charming." Ginny said. "Speaking of, where is Verity? I thought you said you invited her to Christmas dinner."

"I did. But she's spending it with her parents. I think she's introducing them to her boyfriend. I wish them all the best of luck." He shrugged. "Say, Percy, where is _your_ girlfriend?"

"Penny and I have decided to take a break." Percy replied, with the tone of someone making a statement to the media.

"Oi, she sacked you off?" Ron asked, looking up with interest.

"No." Percy sniffed. "If you must know, it was I who ended the relationship."

"Oh_really_?" George and Ron said at the same time.

"Yes, really."

"Why?" Ginny asked. "You've been seeing Penelope for ages now."

Percy flushed, turning back to his mince pie, which was now full. He placed the top crust on and began aggressively crimping the edges with a fork. "Suffice it to say that she was acting in a rather indiscreet manner."

"Penelope was having a bit on the side?!" Ron asked incredulously, exchanging surprised looks with Harry and George.

"_Ron_!" Hermione admonished, but Percy held up a hand.

"I appreciate that, Hermione, but let's call a spade a spade." he replied seriously. Ginny giggled, but quickly covered it up with a delicate cough. Percy mistook this for a gasp of incredulity, because he continued on. "Yes, it is hard to believe, and that's not all. She's spent a considerable amount of my money on, ah,_extracurricular activities_ and didn't think I'd find out."

"Such as?" George prompted. Usually he couldn't wait for Percy to shut his gob, but Percy had never really had any interesting tales to relate.

The elder Weasley furrowed his brow. "Dinners with her lover. Clothes. Rooms above The Leaky Cauldron--"

"Rooms?" Ron asked.

"Yes. And I have it on good authority that she wasn't alone." he said darkly, allowing this statement to linger in the air for a moment before continuing. Ginny mimed vomiting onto the turkey, and Hermione bit back a smile. "But no matter. On to greener pastures, as they say."

No one else spoke for a moment. George saw Harry elbow Ron, but neither said a word. Hermione had suddenly become very interested in her wand. Ginny, however, was now looking evenly at Percy, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Well, good for you, Percy." she finally said. "I'm sorry that it ended badly." She tossed her head toward the stove, and Hermione nodded. Together, they carefully lifted the turkey pan and carried it over to oven.

Once the bird was safely inside, the girls split up to speed along the rest of the preparations. Hermione helped Ron and Harry with de-skinning the rest of the potatoes and getting them settled on the stovetop, while Ginny came over to assist George with the stuffing.

"What is that?" she asked, pulling the bowl of bread cubes in front of her and adding a generous amount of seasoning.

"Celery."

"Obviously. What are you using to cut it?" She nodded at the cutting board, where a paring knife was viciously assaulting a stalk, leaving tiny green slivers in its wake.

"Er…_sectumsempra_."

She watched the onslaught for a moment, then regarded George. "You'd think you wouldn't like to use that, since you lost an ear."

"Yeah, well, it _is_ rather effective."

"I suppose."

It was the work of another ten minutes to get the rest of the food into the oven or onto the stovetop. Once everything was cooking, everyone headed back into the living room en masse, drinks in hand. George and Percy sat in the armchairs, leaving the couples to try and squeeze together on the couch. Ginny began an Extending Charm so they'd all fit.

As she worked, Hermione wandered over to Pig's cage, where she poked an owl treat through the bars and watched the tiny bird swallow it in two gulps. "George, do you mind if I put some music on?" she asked, gesturing to the Wizard Wireless receiver on the bookcase below Pigwidgeon.

"Have at it."

She pulled her wand from the sleeve of her cream-colored sweater, tapping the radio in a complex pattern and mumbling an incantation under her breath. Suddenly, the room was filled with a crackling sound that resolved itself into a crystal-clear stream of words in another language, backed by a fiery guitar.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Ron asked.

"_Feliz Navidad_. It's in Spanish. My dad loves this, it's one of his favorite Christmas songs."

"Well, what's it doing on Wizard Wireless? Let me guess, they have a Muggle station now."

"No." she replied, looking smug. "I figured out how to get Muggle stations on Wizard Wireless. It's actually not as hard as you'd think."

"That's a neat trick, Hermione. Except for the fact that Muggle music is awful."

"Oh Ron, it is not."

The Spanish music ended, and the song that followed sounded as though it was being played on the harmonica and sung by a chorus of prepubescent house-elves. Ron looked horrified for a moment, then began to laugh. "Okay, this isn't awful, then."

Hermione looked annoyed. "It's not _awful_, it's Alvin and the Chipmunks."

George raised an eyebrow. "Muggles haven't figured out how to get into Diagon Alley, but they've trained chipmunks to sing?"

"No, it's--"

"It's a cartoon." Harry said. "I remember watching it with Dudley one year. It's a television program that Muggles watch, about three chipmunks that wear T-shirts and trainers and form a rock band."

Ron and George exchanged looks and began to laugh again. Hermione, looking exasperated, was making her way back to the sofa when she stopped short, staring at the window.

"Oh look, an owl."

Sure enough, outside the glass sat an ivory-colored owl with tan markings on its' face. She detoured to the window, opening it enough so the owl could come inside. Pigwidgeon began to twitter excitedly at the sight of a potential friend. Ginny got up from the sofa and took two of Pig's treats over to where Hermione was untying a stack of letters from the owl's leg.

"Look, he's an express." Ginny said, indicating a red band clipped just above the owl's foot. She fed it one of Pig's owl nuts as Hermione removed the last letter, and the other just before it flew away again. "Who're they for?" she asked as she shut the window and settled back down on the sofa.

Hermione was rifling through the envelopes. "All of us." She distributed each envelope to its' rightful owner. Everyone had one, except for George and Ginny, who had two, and Harry, who had three.

"It's from Mum." Ron said, having ripped his open first. He scanned the letter, then handed it to Hermione, who had just tucked her letter back into it's envelope. "It's addressed to you too. Who's yours from?"

She blushed a bit as she took Mrs. Weasley's letter from him. "It's from Viktor. He says hello to you."

"Lemme see that!" he said, scowling as she passed him the letter. He unfolded it with more antagonism than necessary and began to read it closely, eyebrows knitted together in annoyance.

"Here, Harry, Mum says hi as well." Ginny said, handing the paper to him so he could read for himself. "The other is from Luna. She's in Kenya with her dad. They both say Merry Christmas, everyone." She frowned when she noticed the look on Harry's face as studied a piece of thick ivory-coloured parchment covered in large, feminine script. "What, what is it?"

"What?" he said distractedly, looking up. "Oh, it's… it's nothing. A letter from Mrs. Tonks. She sent a picture of Teddy. " He displayed a photo of a chubby, smiling baby with bright red hair waving a scrap of wrapping paper in the air. With his current hair color, Teddy Lupin could have easily been a Weasley.

"How is she?" Hermione asked, looking concerned.

Harry shook his head. "Not too well, from the sound of things. I think she's having a hard time."

"How awful."

"Yeah. When we saw her at Tonks' and Lupin's funeral…." Ron made a noise and shook his head, staring at the floor. "That was one of the worst things I've ever seen."

The mood in the room went from lighthearted to heavy as everyone became wrapped up in his or her own thoughts. Harry folded the letter from Mrs. Tonks and placed it back in the envelope, then looked up. "Well, on the brighter side, Neville sends his Christmas wishes to everyone. As does Ernie Macmillan."

"Macmillan? Wasn't he that pompous berk in the D.A.? With the pig Patronus?" George asked.

"That's the one." Ron answered.

"I think it was a boar." Hermione corrected. "Not a pig."

"The D.A.? What's the D.A.?" Percy asked.

The others looked at each other in surprise. George kept forgetting how much Percy didn't know. "You've got a lot to catch up on, Perce." he said, overly lightly. "I'll update you some other time. So, what does Mum have to say to you this year?"

"Oh, the usual. Though she made an unfortunate reference to the Clearwater family. How about you?"

George shrugged. "Not much. Though, in the space of two paragraphs, she told me she loved me about six times."

"Well, she's concerned about you." Ginny said. "Perhaps if you_talked_ to her--"

"Ginny," George said conversationally, plastering a large fake smile on his face as he turned to face his sister, "How about you shut the f--"

"You do know, don't you, that I'm certainly not above hexing you in your own home." She reached into her shawl and withdrew her wand, jiggling it casually between two fingers. "Now, who is your other letter from? Do share." With this, she raised her eyebrow at him.

George was about to make a snide remark, but aborted the mission at the last second. The last thing he wanted was to have Percy send an owl to their mother about how he had started a jinx war over Christmas dinner. "It's from Angelina Johnson." he said in an excessively gracious tone. "She, too, is concerned about my well-being. I'll have to send her an owl later and assure her that I've not yet shed my mortal coil."

"How nice. And are you sure there aren't any _other_ letters you'd be interested in sharing the contents of?"

"Why Ginny, I haven't the slightest inkling as to what you're referring to."

Ron was watching the exchange with interest when Hermione elbowed him. "What?" he said, rubbing at his side. "Everyone always gets me right in the same spot."

She shot a murderous look at him and nodded her head so violently towards the kitchen that it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. "I_think_ dinner is ready." she said through clenched teeth.

"Oi, all right." He heaved a sigh and got to his feet. "George, come on, let's go check on the food."

He led his brother to the kitchen, where dinner was indeed ready. George opened the oven, inhaling deeply as the aroma of the glistening, golden brown turkey filled the room. "Excellent." he said, a wave of his wand maneuvering the pan from the oven to the countertop.

"Can you believe it takes Muggles six or seven hours to cook something like this? I love magic."

"As do I, Ronniekins, as do I. Say, can you move that serving platter? Thanks, you're a prince."

The two Weasleys made a fair showing of moving the various foodstuffs into bowls and onto plates to facilitate serving. A few minutes later, when everyone was seated at the table, they used their wands to send most everything out to the dining room. Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Percy applauded as they came out of the kitchen, Ron carrying a six-pack of butterbeer, a bottle of wine, and one of firewhiskey, and George directing the turkey, in all its' glory, to the middle of the table. Once it was settled, he flicked his wand again, causing all the lights to go off. One more wave, and the candles on the table and sideboard were lit, adding to the gentle glow from the Christmas tree.

"Ahhh, ambience." Ron said, nodding his approval as he took the empty seat between Percy and Hermione.

"Would anyone like a drink?" George asked, indicating the bottles that Ron had placed on the sideboard.

"Pour us all a glass of wine, George. I want to make a toast." Hermione directed.

He obliged, and, when everyone had a full glass in front of them, took the empty chair at the head of the table. The one at the other end was empty as well.

"To Harry." Hermione said once George was seated, holding her glass aloft. "For a bit of everything."

"Here here!" Ron said loudly, tapping the tabletop forcefully with his free hand. Harry flushed as the others raised their glasses. "To Harry!"

"Cheers!" Ginny, George, Percy, Ron and Hermione said in unison, clinking their glasses above the turkey.

"Alright then." Harry said, once everyone else had taken a sip. He held his own glass in the air. "To Ron. For coming back."

They took turns toasting each other. Ron toasted Hermione for "her bossiness, without which great things would never have happened." Hermione toasted Percy for "knowing when to trade what is socially right for what is morally good." Slightly flustered, Percy toasted Ginny for "strength in the face of adversity and tragedy." And finally Ginny toasted George, for "a wonderful Christmas together and myriad other reasons."

There was one more sip of wine left in George's glass, and before he could talk himself out of it, he cleared his throat. "I'd like to propose a toast." he said, wincing inwardly at the sound of his voice. "To Fred Weasley, who is greatly missed."

His face burned as everyone turned to face him. Percy was frowning as though he hadn't understood, Harry was nodding slowly, Hermione had tears in her eyes, and Ron looked like someone had just goosed him. Ginny, however, raised her glass and said, "Here here!" And they all raised their glasses to the empty chair at the other end of the table and drank.

In the silence that followed, George became aware of the lyrics of the song playing on the Wizard Wireless airwaves.

_I'll have a blue Christmas without you_

_I'll be so blue just thinking about you_

_Decorations of red, on a green Christmas tree_

_Won't be the same if you're not here with me_

_And when those blue snowflakes start fallin'_

_That's when those blue memories start callin'_

Quickly, Hermione pointed her wand at the wireless set, causing the rest of the song to be drowned out by a rush of static. "Oh, Elvis, he always says what everyone's thinking." she said, forcing a laugh but looking mortified.

It's alright, Hermione." George said quietly, as the static died away and another, less poignant song played as though nothing had happened. She smiled at him, and he wanted to be annoyed but couldn't. He returned the smile, tossed her a wink, and then made a grand gesture towards the middle of the table. "Okay folks, the moment you've all been waiting for. Ron, would you do the honors?"

Ron stood up and, to much ovation and with much flourishing of his wand, sliced the Christmas turkey. An extra undulation of the wand, however, and one of the candles on the table was sliced cleanly in half.

"Oh, uh, sorry, mate." he said sheepishly as Ginny used her napkin to extinguish the tablecloth, leaving a round burn hole in the plaid fabric.

"Maybe tone it down a little, eh? _Reparo_."

The rest of Christmas dinner passed without incident. George was rather proud of himself as he sat back after his third plate of food, watching as everyone talked and laughed and ate. His thoughts kept turning to Fred, though, and how much more of a party it would have been had he been present. With each of these thoughts, he chased them out of his head with either more wine or thoughts of Paige. Almost without realizing, he had finally convinced himself to call her, though whether it was out of a real desire to do so or simply to distract himself from thoughts of his brother, he never did quite figure out.

After dinner, George tugged Hermione's sleeve and tilted his head towards the doorway. "Oh Hermione," he said loudly, "Will you be so kind as to help me bring out dessert?"

She gave him an odd look, but followed. "What is it?" she asked as they moved into the kitchen.

"Keep your voice down. Look, I need to ask you a favor." he said, looking over her to make sure no one was heading into the kitchen after them.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but said nothing.

"I want to use your mobile phone. Please."

Her eyebrows raised so high they looked like skinny caterpillars trying to crawl into her hair. "Oh? To call whom?"

He shook his head. "That's not important. Please, will you let me?"

She regarded him silently for a moment, then turned and walked back into the living room. Percy was standing at the table, talking to Harry and Ron and gesturing animatedly with the half-full bowl of stuffing that he had picked up from the table, apparently with the intention of bringing it into the kitchen. Behind him, Ginny was at the sideboard, pouring herself another glass of wine. She caught George's eye and rolled her own, then caught sight of Hermione, who was walking back into the kitchen. She looked at her brother quizzically, but made no move towards the kitchen, for which George was eternally grateful.

"Here you go. Do you know how to use it?"

"I--- no."

She took it back. "What's the number?"

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the number. "Six-zero-nine, five-five-five, one-zero-seven-seven." he read as Hermione dialed.

"Hold on a second." she said. "Just where am I calling?" He looked at her mutely, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I just need to know so I can dial right."

"Alright." he said with a sigh. "It's another mobile phone."

"I don't think so, there's not enough digits."

"It's, er, American."

There was a pause. "I see. An American mobile phone. Well, that does change things a bit." He watched her apprehensively as she fiddled with the buttons on the phone, frowning down at the screen all the while. Finally, she handed it back to him. "Here you go. I assume you're going to take this in another room?" He nodded. "Fine. Just press that green button when you're ready to call. And try to make it brief, will you? International calling isn't exactly cheap."

"Thank you Hermione. Let me know what it costs you, I'll give you back the Galleons."

She rolled her eyes again, but smiled. "It's not that expensive. Consider it a Christmas present. Go on, go, before they start asking questions."

He thanked her again and held the phone in his palm as he hurried through out of the kitchen and darted through the living room towards the hall.

"Where are you going, George?" Percy called heartily. "I'm ready for dessert!"

"Toilet!" he called back just before shutting the door of the bathroom behind him. Heart hammering and palms sweating, he lifted the slim pink phone and pressed the green button as instructed. After a series of clicks, the phone began to ring.

"Hello?" a female voice said after a moment.

"Hello?" he said back, catching a look at his reflection in the mirror. He was pale, sweaty and looked like a first-year entering The Great Hall for the first time. Not good. Quickly, he turned away.

"Yeah, hi? Who is this?"

"Is this Paige?"

"Yes, who is _this_?" The voice on the other end of the line was now decidedly frosty.

"Paige, this is George. George Weasley."

The change in tone was instantaneous. "George! Hi! I didn't think you'd call!"

He swallowed. "Yeah, I just got your letter today."

"Great. How are you?"

"Fine. And you?"

"I'm good! Enjoying my stay so far. I'm at Katie's house, having dinner with her and her fiancé and some of their friends."

"Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, no, it's fine. So, how's Ron?"

"Ron? He's good."

"And Ginny?"

"She's well too."

"And Fred?"

He felt like he'd been punched hard in the gut, and actually had to lean forward and grasp the edge of the sink with one hand for support. To add insult to injury, he then felt unbelievably foolish not to have expected this question. She didn't know. There was no way she could know.

"Hello? George? Hello? George, are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. Still here, sorry. Yeah, everyone's fine."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." She paused. "So, you read my letter?"

"Yeah, I did, just this afternoon. Thanks."

"My pleasure. What did you think-- would you like to get together while I'm in London? It's just that I'm not sure when I'll be back in town…."

"Oh, yeah, yeah." he stammered. "I'd love to get together while you're here." _What are you doing?! _he yelled inside his own head, _We didn't discuss this!_ Yet, another voice that sounded suspiciously like Fred was cheering him on.

"Great." He could hear a smile in her voice, and swore that the voice that sounded like Fred had just punched him the arm and given him a thumbs-up. "Well, when were you thinking? I've picked up a couple of nights at a club here, but I'm out by eleven or so. Besides that, the only thing I have to do is the wedding on Saturday afternoon. And I leave Sunday."

"It's up to you."

"Hmmmm… well, how about Thursday night?"

"Thursday? Thursday would be fine."

There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line. "I'll be there in a minute." he heard her say to someone in the background. "George? Sorry about that-- still there?"

"I'm here. Where, ah, would you like to meet?"

"You tell me. Don't you have to travel?"

"Travel?"

"Yeah, to London. Do you have a long trip?"

"Oh. Oh, no, not at all. I'm living in London now."

"Really? That's great, I didn't know. Well, I'm at a club called The Underground. You've probably never heard of it, it's pretty much a hole-in-the-wall. But if you walk up the street a block or so, there's a little diner-type place that isn't terrible. If I tell you where it is, would you want to meet there?"

"Sure."

As she described the location of the club and the cafe, he heard someone come down the hall and stop just outside the door. After a moment, someone knocked. "George?" It was Ginny.

"Sure, uh, just one minute, Mum!" he called back, feeling like a prat. "Sorry." he said into the phone. "Apparently they've sent out a search party."

"Sure. I won't keep you." Paige replied. "So we're on then, for Thursday night at eleven?"

"Absolutely."

"Great. Well, I'll see you then."

"I'm looking forward to it." Once again, Ginny knocked at the door and called his name.

"Me too. Well, until then. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Back when I started writing this, in November, it was seasonal. Now that it's March... well... ya know.

Can you believe Penelope Clearwater?! You know what they say about those private school girls, they go nuts the instant they graduate. (As a product of 13 years of Catholic school, I'm only half-joking!)

A few words on using an OC. Now, I don't like too many stories that feature OCs, and I thought long and hard about a canon character that could serve my purpose. Ultimately, there wasn't one. Hence, Paige was born. (Hitherto, I like adverbs...) Without giving everything away, I want to say that there are very specific reasons why Paige is what she is; namely foreign. Trust me, it will all make sense as that particular storyline evolves.

Bunches of thanks to those who reviewed my last chapter: LauraWalden. HyperLily and Steven Carnell (whose name, I apologize, I keep reading as "Steve Carell.") Hope you guys dig the third installment.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you just call me Mum?" Ginny said incredulously the instant that George opened the bathroom door.

"No." He looked very innocent, which usually meant that he wasn't.

"You did!"

"Believe what you want. While you do so, I'm going to go help myself to Christmas pudding. It looks quite delectable, if I do say so myself. And I do." He made a move to go around her, but she shuffled in front of him, hands on her hips.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Talking to?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, on Hermione's pink telephone."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and she folded her arms in front of her. "I saw her bring it to you. Who did you call? Who sent you that letter?"

From the dining table, Percy called for Ginny and George to join them for dessert. "We'll be right there." he called back, and then turned back to his sister.

"Come with me for a moment." she said, grabbing his wrist and reaching for a closed door across the hall from the bathroom.

"No!" he said sharply. She turned to face him, startled. "I mean," he shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, I'd rather step into my room if you want to talk."

She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded, walking briskly to the closed door at the end of the hall and opening it. He followed her, and shut the door until it was open just a crack.

"Ugh, George, don't you clean in here?" She surveyed the piles of dirty clothes and stacks of papers that lay everywhere.

He gave a quick shrug. "I'm a busy man. Now, what do you care to discuss that can't wait until after our guests depart?"

She snorted. "Guests. George, this is your family. Some blood, some not. But we all care about you."

"Oh, not this again." he said, moving for the door. "Ginny, for the hundredth time, I don't want to have this conversation. Especially not tonight. So, if you don't have anything else--"

"Alright then." she said. "I do have something else. I want to know who you were talking to."

He sighed. "Just a friend."

"You don't _have_ any Muggle friends."

"Who said it was a Muggle?"

"Who else do you know that wouldn't just send you an owl!"

For a long moment, he didn't respond, then said, simply, "_Touché_."

Ginny resisted the urge to gloat. "As I was saying, you don't have Muggle friends--"

"Don't I?"

"No. In fact, I'm not even sure you have any wizarding friends any more. Since you ignore all the ones you had." He went to protest, but she held up her hand. "Harry went to see Oliver Wood this week, he already told you. Angelina, Alicia and Katie were all there as well. Tell me, when was the last time you've seen them? Without trying to forcibly remove them from your shop, of course."

"I've seen them."

"When?"

"I--"

"Fred's funeral?"

"You're straying from the point, Ginny."

She sighed deeply. It was so like him to be exasperating, and she was pretty sure that she'd have to bring out the big guns at this point. "Fine then. I'm done talking."

"Alright then." he said with a satisfied nod, and reached for the door.

"_Petrificus totalus!_" In an instant, Ginny had whipped her wand out of her shawl (mentally thanking her mother for being the type to sew a wand pocket into almost everything) and hexed her brother, who fell backward onto the floor with an unceremonious thump. A particularly large pile of dirty clothes broke his fall. Ginny found herself mildly disappointed that he hadn't suffered a nastier tumble.

She stepped over him and reached into his pocket, pulling out the wrinkled papers. All was silent as she read the letter and George lay motionless on the floor. When she was finished, she nodded, as though the crumpled pages had answered all of her questions. She folded it again and stuffed it into the pocket of his shirt. Then she waved her wand lazily over him.

A second later, he was on his feet, face flushing with anger. She adjusted her shawl over her shoulders and regarded him placidly as he glared at her.

"That was bang out of order, Ginny!" he said angrily.

She was careful to keep annoyance out of her voice, though she felt it. Strongly. "So is shutting me out. I already lost one brother. I'm not planning on letting another one get away that easily."

"I'm not shutting you out. And you aren't losing me." he said gruffly, though he motioned for her to approach. She did, but warily, keeping her eyes on his wand hand, which remained in view until he enveloped her in a hug.

"I love you, George." she said, offering an out-of-character sentiment to balance her brother's aberrant display of affection.

"Love you too, Gin." He paused. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You're a dab hand at hexes. Does Harry know what he's getting into? "

"He knows. Does your Muggle girlfriend know what she's getting into?"

George groaned loudly. "Ugh. I don't _have_ a Muggle girlfriend. And why couldn't you have forgotten about this?"

"Remember how you took the mickey out of me for months when you found out I was dating Michael Corner?"

"The shaggy-haired louse."

"You should talk."

"It's different. I retain masculine good looks. He could have been mistaken for a second-year Hufflepuff girl."

Ginny laughed. "All I mean is, why are you embarrassed about going to see this girl? From what I can recall, she was rather nice. And she quite fancied you and Fred."

"How do you mean?"

"She was all over the two of you."

"She was a stripper. As it was explained to me, it was her job to be all over everyone."

"No, it was different. You could tell."

"Oh? So, what could you tell from the lap dance that she gave Luna Lovegood?"

Ginny considered. "You could tell that she thought Luna was sweet. And that other than that, it was strictly business." She continued. "So, do you need Ron distracted?"

George looked at Ginny, then blinked twice and shook his head, as though he must have misunderstood. "Sorry?"

"When you go on your date. I'll take care of Ron. Harry and I can take him to a pub, give you some time to get ready and head out. In case you haven't noticed, he rather takes over the living room." George was staring at her like he had never seen her in his life. "What, why are you giving me the eye?"

"How did you...? You're all right. You know that?"

She nodded. "I do. What night?"

"Thursday."

"And--"

"Just until I leave. Around nine."

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and someone knocked on the door before pushing it open. "Everything alright back here?" Ron asked, looking from Ginny to George.

"We're fine, Ron." Ginny replied. "How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine. It's just that Hermione's started to get a little worried."

"Well, never fear, I'm done interrogating George." Ginny exited the room and headed back to the living room, leaving Ron looking curiously at George.

"What was she interrogating you for?"

"Get back out there, Ronniekins." he replied, waving Ron back down the hall.

Ginny smiled to herself as she scooped up a few empty plates from the dining table and took them back into the kitchen, where Harry was stacking dirty dishes in the sink. He looked up as she entered.

"Everything good?"

She smiled. "Just fine. You?"

A shadow seemed to cross over his face, but he smiled broadly at her and nodded. "Yeah. This is nice."

"It is."

He took the plates from her and added them to the pile in the sink, then wiped his hands on a dishtowel and turned to her. "Do you feel like coming outside with me for a bit?"

She didn't, not really, when it was so cold out and George's flat was so merry and warm. But there was something in his face, in the way that he asked, that made her nod. "Sure."

"What's this now?" Ron asked as they exited the kitchen and headed for the stairs. He was now sprawled comfortably on the sofa. "What about dessert?"

"In a minute, Ron. Harry and I are going outside for a bit."

"You'll catch your death of cold out there." Hermione said, looking up from where she sat playing Exploding Snap with Percy. George sat at the table with them, scrutinizing his brother's technique.

Once they were sufficiently bundled up in coats and hats and gloves, they descended the stairs and went out into the still night. The air was very cold, and their breath made clouds of fog when they exhaled. Overhead, a half moon shone brightly in the clear sky.

"Should I be worried?" she asked as he pulled the door shut.

"Worried? No, of course not."

"All right then." she said simply, waiting for him to continue.

"The letter from Mrs. Tonks… I feel like I should go and see her. I feel like… like this is my fault, and that I need to make it better somehow."

"You feel like what is your fault?"

"That her husband and her daughter and her son-in-law are dead."

"But that's not true. You couldn't stop the Ministry from hunting Muggle-borns. And Tonks and Lupin knew what could happen, and they chose to fights as members of the Order. It's terrible that they all died, yes, of course it is. But it certainly isn't your fault."

He sighed. "I can't help but feel like it is. And that I need to do something about it. I want to give her Grimmauld Place."

Ginny blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Grimmauld Place. I want Mrs. Tonks to have it. It's not like I'm living there. It's just sitting there, empty. And it did belong to her family, after all."

"That's nice of you, Harry, but… I'm not sure Mrs. Tonks would want to live there. She probably hates it for the same reasons that Sirius did. And she has her own house where she's comfortable, where she raised her family."

"I'll give it to Teddy, then. He can live there when he's older. I want some good to come out of this."

"Something_good_? Harry, all this is good." She threw her arms out and turned in a circle, indicating not the narrow alleyway in which they stood but all of wizarding Britain with one sweeping motion. "And none of it would be here if you did things differently."

"Wouldn't, it, though?"

"You aren't saying you wish Voldemort wasn't dead." She put her hands on top of her head and stared at him in disbelief.

"No, not at all! But… we could have been better prepared. We just sort of ran into Hogwarts that night… didn't even know what we were looking for…. If I'd taken some more time to plan, maybe--"

"Maybe we'd all be dead. Maybe there would be no hope left. Maybe we'd all be Imperiused and torturing Muggles right now instead of looking forward to eggnog and treacle tart."

"But what about Fred? Don't you wish that he was here?"

"Of course I do, Harry. I miss him every day. But he knew what he was doing when he came into the castle that night. He knew the risk involved, and I'm sure that he's proud to have given his life so that thousands more could be alive tonight, and safe, and happy. The same thing goes for Lupin and Tonks, and Sirius, and your mum and dad, and--"

She had no choice but to break off when he took her chin gently in his gloved hand, tilted it just slightly upwards, and kissed her deeply. His breath was warm on her face, and a pleasant heat moved quickly through her.

"Thank you." he said, pulling back after a minute and straightening his glasses.

"You're welcome."

"I don't know why I feel the way I do. I'm happy, probably happier than I can ever remember. But sometimes I just get overwhelmed. And when I get a letter like Mrs. Tonks', I get--"

"Survivor's guilt?"

"What?"

"I don't know, Hermione said it once."

And he drew her close again, kissing her gently. This time she returned it with enthusiasm.

"So will you come with me tomorrow, to see Mrs. Tonks? I still want to visit." he said a few minutes later.

"Of course."

"Good. We should go back upstairs, then." She nodded, and, hand in hand, they went back inside and up the stairs.

"Finally." Ron said, jumping off the couch. "I've been promised dessert three times now."

"Far be it from me to disappoint." Ginny replied, hanging her coat back up in the closet and bustling into the kitchen, feeling very much like she imagined her mother frequently did.

A few minutes later, the six of them were seated again at the dining table, each with a mug of eggnog and plates laden with sweets.

"I have to say, George, I didn't think you had it in you." Hermione said, licking the back of her spoon before digging it back into the generous helping Christmas pudding that sat before her.

"It's true. You'd think you'd been hanging out with the Hogwarts house-elves." Ginny agreed, breaking off a piece of piecrust with her fingers.

"Crazy little bastards still cranking out top-notch food?" Ron asked, draining his eggnog noisily. He eyed Hermione over the top of the mug, but she was still very absorbed in her pudding and seemed not to have noticed his colourful description of the house-elves. Satisfied, he turned back to Ginny.

"They didn't stop just because you left school, Ron."

"Kreacher still there?"

She nodded, pushing back her plate. "He is. Whenever I see him, he bows at me about four times and asks about Harry."

"Crazy little bastard." Ron said fondly. He snuck a look over at Hermione, who paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth.

"I heard you the first time, Ron." she replied, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Right." he said, turning faintly pink.

George belched loudly. "What's it like with McGonagall as headmistress?" he asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Not that much different than with Dumbledore. She still teaches Transfiguration, at least for this year. And Hagrid does a great job as Head of Gryffindor House. He's very… enthusiastic." She smiled, thinking of the last Quidditch match, where he had scooped up half a dozen first-years and carried them out onto the pitch on his shoulders after Gryffindor's victory. "You should come up to visit, the lot of you. The next Quidditch match is in February."

"Well, we're going to sitting for our N.E.W.T.s in May, but we can still come up for your next match." Ron said, again looking at Hermione. She nodded.

"You're going to sit for your N.E.W.T.s, Ron?" Percy asked with interest.

"Yeah, we got it cleared with McGonagall over the summer. They let Hermione into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement without 'em, and Harry into Auror training, but we still want to take 'em."

"Seems like a waste, if you ask me." George said, stretching. "You've got a great job as it is."

"I know, but-- well, it'd be nice to have something to fall back on, ya know? What if, ten years from now, you decide to relocate to Japan or America or somewhere mental like that?"

"It's true." Hermione said, positively beaming at Ron across the table.

Ginny mentally rolled her eyes, then turned to George. "So you're not going to take them, too?"

"Nope."

"Going to be a shopkeeper for your whole life?"

"An incredibly wealthy shopkeeper, yes."

"And you don't see anything wrong with that?"

"Not in the slightest. Why, what do you want out of life?"

Ginny's mind seemed to skid to a halt. It seemed like, for six long years, she had thought of her future in terms of living free from the threat of Voldemort, or, at the very least, the end of school. Now, here she was, a few months from finishing Hogwarts, an epic battle behind her. "I… I'm not sure."

George raised an eyebrow at her. "You know, I expected you to say something a little more interesting."

"Yeah, well, I expected you to channel Lucius Malfoy and wear a ponytail and a fur stole for today's festivities. Looks like we're both disappointed."

When they were finished with dessert, Percy elected himself Father Christmas, herding everyone else onto the sofa or armchairs and distributing gifts. There was much tearing into wrapping paper and shaking boxes and exclaiming. Ginny found herself with an armload of books from Hermione ("Look, I got you some Muggle classics, too-- Jane Austen, she's great, and some Charles Dickens. And this guy, Tolkien, tries to write about wizards and elves and such. That ought to be a laugh!"), a very soft grass-green sweater and striped scarf from Percy ("The saleswitch told me that green will go nicely with your hair."), tickets to a Holyhead Harpies match from Ron ("Save your stub-- next year we can get a discount on season tickets!"), an enormous box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products from George ("What can I say, I'm not creative when it comes to gift-giving.") and a beautiful gold Celtic knot necklace from Harry.

"Wow, it's gorgeous. Thank you." she said, taking it from the small burgundy box and inspecting it in the light. "Here, put it on me." She turned to Harry, lifting her hair away from her neck so that he could clasp the necklace on her.

"That is pretty." Hermione said, leaning over to study it.

"Hey Ron, what did you get for your girlfriend?" George asked, wrapping the scarf Hermione had knitted for him around his head like a turban. Ron turned scarlet instead of answering, as did Hermione.

"I_see_." George waggled his eyebrows salaciously, but Ginny cut him off with a loud clearing of her throat.

"Please. I'll vomit."

"Let me test this thing out." Harry said quickly, opening the packaging of the wizard camera that Ginny had given him. He loaded it with film and pointed it at her. "Smile."

Obligingly, she tossed her hair and model-posed, then smiled as the flash went off. "That'll be a keeper."

"It will. All right, everyone, come on. In front of the tree. I want a photo."

There was a low-level grumbling, especially from Ron and George, but they all lined up in front of the Christmas tree so Harry could take a picture. He fiddled with the focus and peered through the viewfinder. "Can you take that off your head, George?"

"If I must." He yanked the scarf off of his head with a flourish.

"Go on, Harry. I'll take one with you in it." Percy said, after he took the first picture. Harry handed him the camera and slid into the group next to Ginny. They all smiled.

"Christ, that flash is bright." Ron said, rubbing his eyes, as the group broke apart. "Say, Hermione, how about I walk you home?"

"All right." she replied, smiling at him.

"Yes, I'm going to get home as well." Percy said. "Penny's coming by early tomorrow to get the rest of her things."

"Oh, you're going to help her?" Ginny asked.

"No, I want to be gone before she even gets to the neighbourhood."

"That's the spirit, Perce!" George clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Don't let the filthy slag run the show!"

"George!" Hermione sounded scandalized. "I hardly think Penelope Clearwater fits the definition of aa_ slag_."

"You and I apparently have different definitions of the word, then."

"Actually, Hermione, George did use the term correctly." Percy said, shrugging into his coat. "And she has developed rather loose morals since Hogwarts." He turned to his brother. "George, it was a lovely time. Thank you for the jokes, I think the trick wands will be most entertaining at the office."

"Don't go too wild. Thanks for the book."

"My pleasure. Happy Christmas." He hugged George awkwardly.

"Happy Christmas."

In the flurry of goodbyes, Harry turned to Ginny. "I'm going to go home as well. Will you still come with me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"I'll be by around noon, then? And we'll Apparate over?"

"Sure."

"I-- I had a great time today. Thank you for inviting me."

She made a face. "Haven't we spent Christmas together almost every year since I was eleven?"

"Something like that. I hope we get to spend more together." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Merry Christmas. Thank you for everything."

"Thank_you_. Happy Christmas."

Once she had said good-bye to everyone, Ginny busied herself with cleaning up the gift debris and the load of pots, pans and dishes. As she used her wand to scour the roasting pan, she replayed the dessert conversation over in her head. "_Why, what do you want out of life?" _George had said. The words made her stomach do somersaults, for reasons she couldn't explain. Was it because she didn't know? Because she thought she should know? She knew what she didn't want, and that was to do nothing. And she was pretty sure she didn't want to work at the Ministry, or at a shop. Beyond that--

She was startled out of her thoughts by George emptying the rubbish bin. "So, d'you think they're going to test out Ron's mystery Christmas gift? I bet it's lingerie. Edible lingerie."

She dried the pan and set it on the counter, then set to work on scouring the stuffing bowl. "You're just jealous."

"Nah. Hermione isn't really my type."

"I didn't mean because it's Hermione. I mean because Ron is getting some action, and you aren't."

"Oh, so you _do _think they're testing it out. What do you reckon it is, then? Something you can wear, or something you can use?"

"You're sick. You know that, right?"

"Not sick. Just clever." She shot him a doubtful look, and he laughed. "Come on, leave that for tomorrow."

"I'm not going to be here tomorrow. Harry and I are going out."

"So? It's Christmas still. Forget the dishes. Come on, sit in the living room with me for awhile."

So she did.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I've always been under the impression that Ginny is close to most of her brothers (the only exceptions being Charlie and Percy), but shares (shared?) a special relationship with the twins (and not in an "ew" way either). They have similar personality traits, but, more so, I think it's because she doesn't feel overshadowed by them the way Ron does. She can get away with saying and doing things to George that he won't allow from other members of his family. Ya know.

Thanks to those who reviewed my last chapter, Hyperlily and QtipKiwis. Also thanks to those who sent me some messages about beta-ing the rest of this story. I have a bit of chapter-story anxiety, LOL. If anyone has any constructive criticism/suggestions/etc and you're not into reviews, please send me a message. I'm always curious as to how I'm doing.

Working on another one-shot, not sad like _Fred's Funeral_, but I can't decide if I want to write about the night the Order gets word that they need to go to the Ministry (at the end of OotP) or how everyone finds out they need to get to Hogwarts for the final showdown (as takes place during DH, obviously). Maybe both. I don't know. This site has far surpassed Wikipedia and Myspace as my latest Internet addiction.


	5. Chapter 5

Boxing Day was even colder than Christmas, so Harry decided to Apparate over to the flat instead of walk. He arrived at the door a few minutes past noon, a wrapped gift for Teddy under his arm. Ginny was waiting for him.

"Hey." she said, shuddering a bit as she locked the door behind her. "Wow, it's cold."

"Yeah. 'Tis the season, huh?"

She grabbed onto his free arm and together they turned, appearing a few seconds later in a muddy lane. The sun shone so brightly on the snow-covered countryside that they both had to shield their eyes.

"This is beautiful." Ginny said, shading her face with her hand and looking over the softly rolling hills. At the base of the hill on which they stood was a large expanse of snowy ground, a frozen pond beneath the bare branches of an old tree, and a small, neat house. A thin ribbon of smoke was issuing from the fieldstone chimney.

Harry led her down the hill, to a gate set in the low stone wall that separated the Tonks' land from the road. As they made their way up the walk, he was aware that the sound of the snow crunching beneath their shoes was the only thing that broke the stillness.

The door opened before they reached it, and Andromeda Tonks stood in the doorway, a cloth slung over one shoulder. She looked tired, and significantly older than she had at Tonks' and Lupin's funeral. There were more lines around her eyes, and her hair was liberally streaked with grey. Still, she smiled as they approached.

"Harry. Ginny. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Tonks."

"Come in, come in, I've just put on a pot."

She ushered them into the house, through the narrow foyer and into the sitting room. A collection of toys was still sitting under the Christmas tree, which was bare of decorations around the base but heavily adorned on the top two-thirds. Teddy was asleep on a blanket in the middle of the floor, his hair the same vivid red it had been in the picture Harry had received on Christmas. Brightly coloured blocks surrounded him.

"He just passed out there about twenty minutes ago. We had been building-- well, I'd been building towers with his blocks, and he was knocking them down." She smiled down at the sleeping infant. "I think it's safe to say that Christmas is his favourite time of year."

"He's so adorable." Ginny whispered as Harry laid his gift beneath the tree.

"And he'll be so excited that you two have come to see him. Here, come into the kitchen until he wakes up."

The kitchen was small and warm and immaculately clean. Ginny and Harry took off their hats and gloves and coats and settled in at the table while Mrs. Tonks set out tea accoutrements, finally pouring boiling water from the large brass kettle into the delicately flowered cups. Harry busied himself with the sugar and cream, finally looking up at the woman who had sat down across from him.

She spoke before Harry could, her eyes focused on Ginny. "How are your parents, dear?"

"They're all right. I guess. They went on holiday for Christmas."

"Give them some time. I'm sure they're in a strange place right now. How have you been holding up?"

"Me? I'm doing pretty good, most of the time."

"I'm happy to hear that. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your brother's service; Professor McGonagall told me it was lovely."

"Thank you." Ginny said.

"How have you been, Mrs. Tonks?" Harry asked, watching her closely.

"I've been… okay. Teddy helps, very much. Still, we have our good days and our bad days. Christmas was rather difficult, so forgive me if my letter sounded melancholy."

"It's fine. I mean, I understand."

"I tell myself that it's silly to be so sad--"

"No, it--"

"Yes. Teddy and I are well taken care of. So many people help us every day. There are always owls and packages and people dropping in. The house is very full of life."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Mrs. Tonks hesitated. "Narcissa has been to see us."

Harry almost dropped his cup. Hot tea flew over the side and all over his hands, but he barely noticed. Ginny handed him a napkin, which he promptly crumpled in his fist. "Narcissa_Malfoy_?"

"Yes. My sister." There must have been a look of horror on Harry's face because she continued quickly. "Narcissa isn't intrinsically evil, Harry, I promise you. Things are... different, now."

"But... it's been years since you've spoken to her!"

"And I believe that was a mistake."

Harry stared at her, barely able to comprehend what she was saying. From across the table, she smiled at him, though sadly. "Let me explain."

"You don't have to--" Ginny said quietly, but Andromeda raised her hand.

"I appreciate your concern, dear, but I want you both to understand. Merlin knows I had a hard time figuring it out myself.

"You see, Narcissa was Daddy's little girl from day one. She wasn't manic like Bella, or incorrigible like me. No, she was quiet, and gracious, and well behaved, and very much aware of her place in the world. Exactly what he wanted out of a daughter; a beautiful, refined, class-conscience little lady. I'm sure that Sirius explained to you about the 'noble and most ancient house of Black', Harry?" She shook her head, then sipped her tea before continuing. "Well, along with impeccable manners and a taste for the finer things, Narcissa inherited old ideas and old notions and old prejudices.

"When we were at school, she only associated with the students from the best families and the oldest Wizarding lines. No Muggleborns or blood traitors sat with Narcissa, and she was quite happy to keep it that way. Going around hauling people into the air by their ankles, though, or calling people 'mudblood'… those things weren't her style."

Harry couldn't help himself. "It was Bellatrix's?"

"No." Mrs. Tonks said softly, looking at the wall beyond Harry's head as if she was watching her sister in action. "Those things were tame compared to... Well… You see, Bella was... cruel. Unbalanced. Insane. Even as a child.

"There was a girl in her year, a Ravenclaw named Katherine Howell. She was a sweet girl, and she had the dearest little seal-point Persian cat that she got for Christmas in their third year. Named him Pickle, I think. All the other girls were jealous, of course. Everyone except for Bella. She killed that cat right before the end of term."

Ginny drew in her breath sharply. "I thought you said she wasn't jealous."

"She wasn't. Bella didn't care about animals. She killed the cat just because it made Katherine happy. And she laughed about it."

"How--" Harry began, thinking to himself that the idea of young Bellatrix Black was enough to give him nightmares.

"How did she kill it?" He nodded. "_Corpus Exussum."_

"I've never heard of that spell."

"Neither had I. But it's a nasty one." She took another sip of her tea. "It was during exams, and everyone was back in their dormitories after dinner. I was studying for my Charms examination in the common room when Bella came through the door. I remember that she made a big show of saying hello to me, which struck me as odd, even then. She went into her dormitory and came back with a book, and settled down across the table from me. Everything was quiet for a while, and then I head this terrible noise from outside. It stopped for about a minute, and then started up again, even louder, outside the door. It was awful. I didn't know what it was, because I'd never heard anything like it. Finally, a few of us got up and went into the hallway, and there, at the foot of the stairs leading down from the rest of the castle, was this little cat. It was screaming, its fur was on end, it was scratching furiously at itself, to the point of drawing blood, and then it just… died. A few moments later, some of the teachers came down the stairs and asked us what we had seen, which, of course, was really nothing."

After a long pause, Ginny asked, "What happened to it?"

"Well, at the time, I had no idea why the cat acted the way it did. I didn't even think it had anything to do with Bella. Professor Dippet-- he was the headmaster at the time-- thought the cat was just ill. But Dumbledore… well, I think he knew. He took me aside and said 'Miss Black, have you seen your sister this evening?' I told him she was in the common room, and he asked me to tell her not to forget that she had extra work to hand in to him before the end of the term. But I had a pretty good idea of what he was thinking. When I went back into the common room, Bella was nowhere to be seen. She had left her book lying open on the table, though, so I picked it up with the intention of bringing it to her along with Professor Dumbledore's message.

"That's when I realized she hadn't been studying. Well, not anything that she'd use in school. It was this old, dilapidated book; I have no idea where she got it from. It listed these… horrific spells. And the one it was open to was called _Corpus Exussum_. It… it described how, once cast, the victim's body temperature would start to rise slowly, a degree at a time, over the next few days. The person wouldn't realize what was going on until it was too late, and they… well, they pretty much burned to death from the inside."

For a long moment, no one spoke.

"That's what you think happened to the cat?" Harry finally asked.

"I'm nearly sure of it. When I brought the book to Bella and told her what Dumbledore had said, she just laughed and said 'read anything interesting in there, Dromeda?' and walked away, still cackling."

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks while Mrs. Tonks continued. "There were a few deaths over the years that had been particularly heinous, especially during Voldemort's first rise to power, and I honestly believe that it was Bella pulling out an old favourite."

"You think she used that when she was a Death Eater?"

"Yes. Not very often, as I think the Cruciatus curse better suited her-- she could watch her victim screaming in pain-- and the Exussum took a long time to work. But I do think she continued to use it."

"How ghastly." Ginny said, picking up her cup of tea, which had grown chilly while she'd listened intently to Mrs. Tonks' story. She set it back down. "And, you know, the most frightening part about it is, she was all of, what? Twelve? Thirteen?"

Mrs. Tonks nodded. "Thirteen. I was eleven. And Narcissa wasn't even at Hogwarts yet."

"Did she know?" Harry asked.

"Did Narcissa know that Bellatrix killed this cat? I don't believe so. But she grew up with Bella, the same as I did. She knew what she was." Mrs. Tonks smiled wryly at Harry across the table. "I know what you're thinking, Harry. How can I love Narcissa, when her politics and her twisted ideals killed my husband and my daughter and my son-in-law?"

He neither affirmed or denied this. His feelings toward the Malfoys were still very jumbled. On one hand, Narcissa Malfoy had essentially saved his life. And he still felt sorry for Draco, forced into Voldemort's service because of his father's failure. And yet, wasn't that the life they had chosen, aligning themselves willingly with Voldemort?

"I'm not sure that Narcissa felt any allegiance to You-Know-- I mean, Voldemort." Mrs. Tonks said, as if she had read his mind. "However, I know that she loves her husband and would have supported him in any choice he made. As far as Lucius goes, well, I'm not entirely sure he knew what he signed up for when he joined up with Voldemort in the beginning."

"He didn't _know_?"

"I'm not sure. Deep down, I think he thought, when all was said and done, he'd be going home after some demonstrations, maybe a Levicorpus or two, and have a higher position at the Ministry."

"But wouldn't the, oh, I don't know, _torturing and murdering_ people tip him off after a bit?!" he said angrily, his voice sounding very loud in the quiet house.

Ginny shot Harry a look that clearly told him to back off.

"Sorry." he mumbled, settling back in his chair. However, Mrs. Tonks just shook her head.

"It's all right, Harry. You're allowed to want to know. I'm afraid, though, that I can't give you many definitive answers. I left my family's house the summer before my seventh year at Hogwarts and never returned. The only person from the Black family that I talked to, for many years after that, was Sirius. That is, until just before Halloween, when I answered a knock at my door and found Narcissa standing there. We have yet to discuss anything that has occurred in the past thirty years. Who knows if we ever will. But I get the idea that Lucius-- who always struck me as being all mouth and no trousers, quite honestly-- got in over his head and, by the time he fully realized what the people he was associating with were capable of, found himself with his hands tied…." Harry was suddenly aware that he was making a face, and quickly changed his expression back to a neutral one. "I ask you, Harry, why did you choose the path you did?"

"Me? Because… because I thought it was right."

"Because you felt it here?" She laid her hand over her heart.

"Yes."

"I imagine that most everyone makes their choices based on the same thing, the obvious exception being people like Bellatrix, and the man who was once Tom Riddle." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Tonks raised her hand. "Please don't think I mean that following one's heart is an excuse for committing atrocities. It isn't, not at all, and…."

A soft sound came from the sitting room, and Mrs. Tonks trailed off, turning towards the doorway. Her face changed instantly, the lines softening and features glowing, and she held out her hand. "Well hello, little man." She smiled and pushed back from the table. A few moments later, Teddy crawled into the kitchen, his tiny hands smacking softly on the tile floor.

"Did you have a nice nap?" she asked, picking him up and settling him on her lap, using the other hand to push the teacup out of his reach.

Teddy was a beautiful baby, all chubby cheeks and long eyelashes. His soft hair was brilliantly red, and his eyes were the same deep, intelligent brown that his father's had been. Sitting securely in Mrs. Tonks' lap, he regarded Harry and Ginny seriously for a few moments, before breaking into a four-toothed grin and waving his arms.

"Hi Teddy." Ginny said, reaching across the table to touch his tiny fist. He promptly took a hold of her finger and stuffed it into his mouth. She gazed rapturously at the baby as he chewed on her. "How old is he now?"

"Nine months as of Christmas."

"He's perfect."

"Can I give him his Christmas gift?" Harry asked, getting up from the table.

"Of course. Let's bring him into the sitting room."

They got up from the table and went back into the living room. Mrs. Tonks and Teddy sat on the floor near the Christmas tree, and Ginny plopped down next to them. Harry took the package from under the tree and handed it to his godson.

Teddy took hold of the end of the gift and began chewing on the corner. Harry laughed, and knelt on the carpet next to him. "Here." he said, hooking his finger in the seam of the wrapping paper and giving a tug. "I'll get you started."

He watched as Teddy found the loose edge of the paper with his wet fingers, and helped him tear it from the long, narrow box.

"What's that, Teddy?" Mrs. Tonks asked, tapping on the box. "A toy broomstick, how exciting!" She met Harry's eyes and smiled. "I seem to remember your own godfather giving you something very similar."

Harry nodded, flushing slightly. "Yeah, I, uh… well, I thought it would be fun for him."

"That was very nice of you."

Feeling rather embarrassed, Harry hurriedly picked up the box and opened it carefully. A few minutes later, he held the shiny, miniature broomstick to Teddy, who seized the end and stuck it in his mouth.

"He's teething." Mrs. Tonks explained, patting his tuft of tomato-coloured hair.

"Is he a good baby?" Ginny asked, watching him with intense interest.

Mrs. Tonks smiled again. "The best."

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching as Teddy took the end of the broomstick from his mouth and began patting the twigs at the bottom. He looked up at Harry and broke into another wet grin.

"Do you think he's old enough to use it?" Harry asked.

"We-ell," Mrs. Tonks replied, "he could probably take a ride if someone held on to him. Outside, though, the snow is softer than the floor."

"Can we take him out?" Ginny asked.

Mrs. Tonks nodded and stood up. "Certainly. I'll get his things."

A few minutes later, Ginny stood in the foyer with Teddy in her arms. He was bundled up in a snowsuit, mittens and hat, and batting eagerly at the tassels on her knitted scarf. They waited for Harry, who was sitting at the kitchen table and putting on an extra pair of socks.

"I'm going to take him out, Harry. We'll be waiting for you." she said, manoeuvring the door open with one hand while Teddy squirmed in her other arm.

"Okay." Harry agreed as they went outside. He re-laced his boots and got to his feet. Before he could put on his coat, though, he caught sight of them through the window above the sink.

Ginny was crouching on the ground, near a snow-covered bush in the small garden. She had Teddy on her knee, one arm wrapped around him. As he watched, she scooped a handful of snow from the bush and put a bit into Teddy's mittened hand. Together, they squeezed the snow, which fell like glittering sand from between their fingers. Harry's stomach rolled over.

"She's a lovely girl."

Mrs. Tonks had come up behind Harry and now gazed out the window with him.

"Ginny? Yeah, she's… exceptional."

She looked from the window to Harry with a smile. "Bill tells me that you and she are spending quite a bit of time together."

"Bill?"

"Bill Weasley? Your lady love's eldest brother?"

"Oh, right. Bill."

Out in the garden, Teddy pulled his striped hat off gleefully and threw it down on the ground. Ginny leaned over to get it, and the sun caught the long red hair that had escaped from her own knit cap. In that moment, she looked like Teddy's mother. Something inside Harry made connections that had never been forged before. He watched, barely breathing, as she brushed a few crumbs of snow from Teddy's downy scarlet hair before fastening his hat back on his head.

"Harry," Mrs. Tonks began. "Do you love her?"

"What?" Harry asked, not sure he had heard correctly. He looked from the winter tableau framed between the checked curtains and over to Mrs. Tonks.

"You don't have to tell me." she said hurriedly. "What I mean is, Harry, if you are…. Look what happened to Nymphadora and Remus. Their time together was so brief. I don't want to see the same thing happen to you."

"I don't know--"

"I know Voldemort is dead. But there will always be Dark wizards. We don't know who is out there right now, what they're planning. I pray that there's nothing on the horizon. But… don't you think… I mean, the community will always look to you for..." She sighed. "Let me try again-- in case there is anything in the future, do you think, perhaps, you should grab the bull by the horns, as it were?"

As the meaning of her words became clear, he turned from her concerned face again to the window. Ginny was, much to the apparent delight of Teddy, laying flat on her back and making a snow angel. The baby was sitting on her stomach, clapping as she moved her arms and legs in the prescribed motions.

He let his mind consciously form the pictures that had occupied his dreams for so long: on his knees on the kitchen floor at the Burrow, a ring in one hand and Ginny's hand clasped the other; Ginny in a long white dress, being led down the aisle by Mr. Weasley, waving her fingers at him from where her hands were clasped around a bouquet of lavender orchids; Ginny announcing at Christmas dinner that they were expecting their first child in the early summer; pushing open a door to find Ginny in a rocking chair by a sunny open window, with a sleeping auburn-haired infant wrapped in a blanket on her lap.

"Harry?"

"What? Oh." He had been startled out of his reverie. "I know what you're saying." he said slowly, a flush rising in his cheeks.

"I only want you to be happy." Mrs. Tonks said, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry that I spoke out of turn. I just... well, it would make me happy to know there was a little more love in the world."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks. I think there will be. Soon."

The sun was low in the sky when Harry and Ginny finally said goodbye to Teddy and Mrs. Tonks. They had set out towards the lane when Ginny took a detour.

"Where are you going?"

"I've wanted to do this all day." she said, instead of answering.

Puzzled, he followed her past the garden, to the pond. It was where he had landed after falling out of the sky on Hagrid's motorbike, on a night that felt dually like it had been ten years and ten hours ago. It was frozen solid now, and the tree presiding over it had no leaves on its branches, just a thick coating of ice.

"What are you--" he asked, trailing off as Ginny stepped onto the frozen surface. He watched as she took short, running steps across the pond, building up speed until she slid in one long, gliding motion, arms wheeling to keep her steady.

"Come on, Harry!" she called, just before hitting the opposite bank and sitting down hard on the ice. She climbed to her feet, laughing, and started again, this time heading back towards him.

He stepped gingerly off the bank and onto the ice, hardly able to keep his balance. He was able to steady himself, but then she slid into him a moment later, grabbing onto his arms to stop her forward momentum. It didn't exactly work, and the both fell into a slippery, laughing heap onto the ice.

"Oops, sorry." she said, trying to climb to her feet. They slid out from under her, and she landed flat on her back again. "Ow."

"Brilliant idea, truly, a really smashing idea." he laughed, having about as much luck standing up as she did. After a few minutes of floundering around on the frozen pond, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the ice. "_Conglacio Statarius!_"

In an instant, the pond's surface was as steady as the floor in Mrs. Tonks' house. Harry hauled himself to his feet, and helped Ginny up as well.

"Where did you learn _that_?" she asked, brushing herself off and stepping back on to the snowy bank. Together, they started back for the gate leading to the road.

"Hermione taught me a load of spells like that, back before we went looking for Horcruxes. I don't think we ever used it. It sounds cool, though."

They reached the stone wall and turned into the road. As far as the eye could see, the countryside glowed gold. The unblemished snow reflected the light of the setting sun onto every perceptible surface, and he found himself momentarily struck dumb at the sight. _All this is good_, he thought to himself, echoing Ginny's words from the night before. _All this is good._

He slipped his gloved hand into hers. She looked at him and smiled. In the spun-silk light, she looked rather like some divine being fallen to earth.

"What is it?" she asked, a bewildered smile on her face as he squeezed her hand.

"Nothing at all." he answered, returning the smile.

Hand-in-hand, they followed their earlier pair of boot tracks up the gently sloping hill, to where they seemed to have appeared out of thin air. He wrapped his arm firmly around hers, and together they turned on the spot, disappearing with a tiny pop that barely disturbed the stillness they left behind.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Who's a fan of Harry/Ginny? eagerly raises hand Harry's always struck me as a bit of a romantic-- when he sees the object of his affection, it's all chorusing angels and pink sparkles. Because of his past, I think the thought of marrying Ginny and making her the mother of his children is vastly more alluring to him than it would be to someone like Seamus or Dean or even Ron (pre-Hermione), who might be more interested in dating around or sleeping around. Ya know. It's been eight years since I was 17, I don't remember too clearly, LOL.

Speaking of how old I am, I gave Teddy Lupin the same birthday as me-- March 25th, as evidenced by him turning nine months on Christmas Day. I know he was more likely born in early-to-mid April, but I couldn't resist. That's the second piece of information culled from my personal life in this chapter-- Howell (the last name of the little girl who's cat fell victim to Bellatrix Black) is my maiden name. It's Welsh, so, I figured it worked.

The dynamics of Andromeda Tonks and her sisters has always interested me, as well as the questions of the Malfoys (Are they evil? Misguided?), so that's why I have Mrs. Tonks give Harry and Ginny some ideas of the history behind Bellatrix and Narcissa. I'm not exactly sure if too much more information is going to come out about these topics in this story (I don't want to go off in too many different directions), but I do plan on writing more.

Many thanks to the folks who reviewed chapter four: Amaherst, Steven Carnell, LauraWalden, QtipKiwis, Hyperlily and Gryffindor for eva'.

Happy Easter everyone. Huzzah for spring, LOL.

_ZOMG, edit_: I can't believe I forgot to give loads of credit to CT from the "Harry Potter Fans Re-unite" group on Myspace, the best HP-related group I've found so far. He came up with some really wicked spells, like _Corpus Exussum_, for an RPG he participates in. He very generously let me use it for this fanfic.


	6. Chapter 6

On Thursday, George was distracted and irritable. Ron seemed not to notice, except for midmorning, when it came time to take the previous day's earnings to Gringotts. George insisted on taking it himself.

"What, did I mess up a deposit or something?"

"No, I just feel like going today."

"But--"

"But nothing. Now shut your gob, or else I'll put Verity in charge until I come back, instead of you."

Ron grumbled under his breath but said nothing more, and George took Wednesday's deposit over to the large white marble building.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. How is business?" The well-dressed goblin behind the counter looked familiar, but George couldn't think of his name.

"Fine, fine. And yourself?"

"Excellent, thank you. What can I do for you today?"

"I brought over the deposit." he said, sliding the envelope containing the money and the paperwork across the smooth countertop. "Is Bill here today?" He craned his neck around, but saw no sign of another Weasley.

"I believe Mr. Weasley is working in Devon today. Would you like me to owl him?"

"Oh, no thanks, not necessary." George fidgeted slightly. "Uh, I was wondering if you could, er, change some Galleons for me?"

"Certainly. What do you require?"

"Er, how about a hundred pounds?" The goblin looked at George over his glasses for a fraction of a second longer than a normal glance. He shifted uncomfortably as the goblin slowly began to count out a hundred pounds. "So, uh, how was your Christmas?" _Did goblins even celebrate Christmas? _He felt ridiculous, but also as though he had to say something that didn't involve the exchange rate of Galleons to pounds.

"Very nice, sir. Yours?"

"Great, thanks."

"Here you are, sir." The goblin placed a neat stack of notes on the counter in front of George. "That will be forty-two Galleons, including fees."

He took the Galleons out of his wallet and handed them to the goblin, replacing them with the stack of pounds. It felt very light as he put it back into his pocket, stuffed with notes instead of coinage.

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Have a nice evening, sir." There was a slight pause before the word "evening" that unnerved him. _Were goblins psychic? _He'd have to ask Hermione.

When the shop closed that afternoon, George busied himself in the store room, checking and double-checking the inventory of some of his best-selling items. He had just placed an order, so he was mostly wasting time instead of actually taking a serious look at the stock. He repeatedly checked his watch, and, at five-thirty, locked up and headed upstairs to the flat.

"Oh, there you are." Ginny was sitting on the sofa next to a pile of Ron's socks, reading The Daily Prophet, dressed in a long sweater, jeans, and a pair of knee-high, fur-lined boots that made her look like an escapee from Durmstrang. He could hear the sound of running water. "Ron's having a shower. We're going to go meet Harry and go out for a few hours. Would you like to come along?" she asked stridently, looking significantly towards the hallway leading to the bathroom as the rushing noise of the shower cut off.

"No thanks, I have some paperwork to catch up on." George said, equally loud. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure, that would be fine. I think tomorrow we're going to dinner with Hermione."

"Sounds good. Where are you going tonight?"

"We're going to the pub with Seamus and Dean." Ron yelled. He had appeared in the living room, wearing too-long boxers, mismatched socks, and a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. Wet red hair stuck out from his head in a hundred different directions. "What the hell is up with you two?" he continued in a normal tone, giving his siblings a strange look.

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, folding the paper and standing up. "And why aren't you dressed?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but it's not customary for males to sport costume in the shower." Ron said, picking up some clothes that were draped over the back of an armchair. George hid a smile behind his hand. His genius was apparently rubbing off on his younger brother._ Sport costume in the shower_. That was good.

She rolled her eyes. "You're a bloody comedic genius. Come on, we're going to be late."

"All right, all right." Ron walked back down the hall, out of view.

Ginny shook her head. George bit his cheek to keep from smiling again as he took off his coat and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. With an exasperated sound, she picked it up and marched over to the closet.

"Honestly! I spent a lot of time cleaning _your_ flat. The least you could do is _try _to keep it fit for human habitation." she scolded as she put his coat on a hanger and placed in gently in the closet before removing her own coat and handbag.

"Sorry." he apologized, not sounding the least bit contrite.

"I'm going to come back next month and it's going to look just the way it did before, isn't it?"

"I make no promises."

"All right, let's go." Ron came back into the living room, now fully dressed and hair considerably less offensive. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, George?" he said loudly, coming up close to George as though he were deaf.

"I'm sure, ya git. Maybe I'll try to catch up with you after I'm finished my paperwork. If not, tomorrow then." He said goodbye to Ron, and gave Ginny a quick wink. She nodded back, almost imperceptibly, and then they were out the door. George was alone with Pig, who was sleeping in his cage, head tucked under one tiny wing.

By six o'clock, George was already showered and dressed, in jeans and a black button-down shirt. At six-thirty, he was pacing around the flat. At seven, he was at the kitchen table, mechanically sipping a cup of tea that had been topped off with a generous amount of firewhiskey. At seven-thirty, he had changed his shirt twice, before ending up wearing the same one he had originally put on. At eight, he was pacing again. Finally, at eight-thirty, he left the flat.

It was just after nine, nearly an hour before she was due to meet him, when he arrived on the street outside the club. It took only a few minutes for him to walk two blocks up and find the cafe she had told him about. It was brightly lit and sparsely populated, exactly the kind of place he wasn't keen on walking into by himself. He reached for the door, but, after a moment's hesitation, changed his mind suddenly and walked back down the street, coming to a stop once again outside The Underground.

From outside, it looked small and unassuming, no bright lights or neon signs like The Dollhouse, where he had met her three years before. Once again, he hesitated with his hand on the door, then pulled it open.

A narrow, dim hallway stretched about ten meters in front of him, and a fat man in a plaid watch cap sat on a sagging stool at the other end, chewing on an unlit cigar. Next to him was a closed door that, presumably, opened into the club proper. The air was thick, smoky, smelled of rancid lager, and seemed to hum with music, muffled but still loud.

"Yeah?" the man asked, in a voice so gruff and accented that it took George a moment to decipher what he had said.

"Uh... Roxie-- er, is Roxie dancing tonight?" As he spoke, it occurred to George that he had no idea if she was still going by that particular name.

"Roxie? Who're you, I've never seen you here before."

"I, uh, know a girl that she danced with at another club a few years ago. She told me she was working here this week."

"Well, I don't know about this week, but she's here tonight." the man growled, looking him up and down with a critical eye. He reminded George of a seedy, Scottish Alastor Moody. Finally, he paid his cover and was allowed to enter the club.

The first thing that hit him as he closed the door behind him was the music. It was so incredibly loud and had such a presence it was literally like walking into a solid wall.

Currently, the unseen speakers were blaring out angry vocals over distorted, tinny guitars. As his eardrums thrummed with the sound, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and smoke, enough so he could see the room was quite small. A tiny bar was stationed in the back corner, no stools in front of it but a large amount of bottles on the wall behind it. There was a very small stage at the front of the room, empty except for the pole. The rest of the room was littered with small chrome tables and chairs, except for along the back wall, next to the bar, where a line of sad-looking sofas took up residence.

One was currently occupied by a patron dressed in dark clothes and sitting in shadow, so he was barely discernible. Next to him sat a girl with bright blue hair. From George's vantage point, she seemed to be wearing only a pair of knee-high boots. Her skin was very pale, so much so that it seemed to glow. In fact, so did her hair. And her boots. As she shifted, a pair of tiny black shorts came into view. These did not glow. He looked away.

The room was very cool, almost cold, and light was minimal. A few candles were set amongst the bottles behind the bar, flickering in the hazy air. There was a light above the stage, shining on the lonely pole.

He made his way over to a table across the room, a short distance from the door. As he settled himself into a seat, he took another look around. The club was almost empty, this was true, but there were a few more people present than he'd originally thought. Up front, a guy with spiky dark hair and a metal ring through his lower lip was staring morosely at the empty stage. At another table near the bar, a fat, bearded man sat by himself, a pint glass half-filled with a foamy liquid that glowed in the purple lights sitting in front of him. And against the bar, in the corner by the wall, an unhappy-looking man in motorcycle boots stood with his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his midsection. Paige was nowhere in sight.

A second of silence signaled the start of a new song, this one featuring purring female vocals and a distracting electronic-sounding pulsing in the background. A dancer appeared on the stage, the dark curtain billowing behind her. She was tiny, and had blonde dreadlocks fastened into high pigtails on her head. Her face looked very young, though it was heavily made up, and she wore a blue plaid dress and frilly white apron, thigh-high stockings and glittery red shoes. George watched as she moved languidly around the pole, a bored, almost hostile expression on her face. Her main move seemed to be spiraling slowly around the pole, occasionally hiking up her short skirt.

It was strange to watch, when his only prior experience with a strip club with the raucous, neon party atmosphere of the other club. This dancer's eyes looked glazed over, and she stared at the back wall. Something about her made George intensely uncomfortable (perhaps it was the fact that she appeared to be younger than Ginny), and he was half a second from getting up when someone spoke next to him.

"Are you George?"

The bizarre, ethereal voice belonged to a girl that stood at his elbow. She was very tall and very skinny, with long pink hair that looked to be made of yarn. Her face was pale, with very thin, arched eyebrows drawn high on her smooth forehead, giving her a look of perpetual surprise. She was wearing some concoction of pink and black that looked like a little girl's dress, all high neck and big skirt and puffy sleeves. Definitely not Paige.

He nodded slowly, feeling unsettled. A smile spread slowly across the girl's thin face.

"Come with me." she said, before turning and walking way from him. A few paces away, she turned and beckoned to him.

Hesitantly, he got to his feet and followed her. She led him through a door set into the near wall that was practically invisible until they were almost through it, and down a narrow hallway so clouded with smoke that his eyes stung.

"Here." she said over the music, stopping abruptly in front of another unmarked door at the end of the hallway. She opened it and he looked inside.

It was a tiny room, not much bigger than a broom closet, occupied only by a tiny square platform with a pole reaching to the ceiling. A small stool sat in front of it. Other than the mirrors that covered two walls, which made it look like there were eight of him and the skinny girl, the space was empty.

"What's in here?"

She pointed to the platform, where he saw a row of bottles of Muggle beer that he hadn't noticed on first glance.

"Anything else?"

The girl just giggled. Coming from her, it was eerie.

"Do you know where Paige is?"

She nodded.

"Well, where?" He was growing exasperated.

Again, she pointed into the broom closet.

"Sod off!" George said, angry now. He turned to leave when the girl grabbed his shoulder.

"Look," she said, in a perfectly normal tone "she knows you're here, all right? It's a slow night; the least you could do is play along." He stared at her for a second or two, still trying to make sense of the situation. "Come on, love, no one's gonna do anything funny."

He slipped past her into the room, watching her warily in the mirror as he sat down on the stool. Everything felt strange, and his stomach was rolling. The pink-haired girl's reflection waved at him, and she left, shutting the door behind her and leaving him very much alone.

After a minute or so, he picked up one of the bottles of beer and inspected it. It looked vaguely palatable, and he could certainly use something to settle his nerves, which felt unpleasantly wound. He popped the top off and sniffed, then sipped tentatively.

"Appalling." he said under his breath, taking another swig anyway. It was not without its rustic charm. He sipped again, discerningly. Yes, it was indeed an awful, pedestrian sort of libation, yet it was delightfully potent. _Ah, Muggles_, he thought_, perhaps they have gotten alcohol right-- it tastes like swill but it does the job. _

He was well into his second bottle when the door behind him opened and another girl entered. She did not look him in the face, just pulled the door shut and walked purposefully towards the centre of the room. Silently, he sat and watched as she climbed up onto the platform above him, her enormous black shoes now about equal with his chest. It was her, he could tell. She was dressed familiarly, in a plain black bra and thong, but this time they were obscured by a layer of filmy black fabric that she wore like a shirt and tied around her waist. Like a wind-up toy, she began to dance.

It was rather a unique perspective, perched right beneath her as he was. She looked quite tall. After a minute or so, he had become very familiar with her calves and the impossibly tall black shoes, and the way the strap looked like it was biting into her ankle when she turned.

He was pondering this in rather detached way, watching the shoes as they spun quickly around the pole, then flew into the air as their owner jumped into the air, caught the pole at the top, and spiraled slowly to the ground. Quite a neat trick, actually, and he found himself wondering if she had used a Friction Charm in her descent. Then he reminded himself that he was in the presence of Muggles. He looked up.

She was now looking down at him, and it was almost like he was seeing her for the first time-- she didn't look the same, not how he remembered her at all. Her hair was very straight, very shiny, and very black, with thick bangs that came to a point in the middle of her forehead. She was wearing glasses, which she hadn't worn before-- these too had thick black frames. Her eye makeup was black as well, and there was a lot of it. Still, she had the same look of amusement in her eyes and a smile just playing at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't that hard to picture her with a purple fur coat hanging off her shoulder as she downed shots of tequila with Seamus Finnigan.

As he recalled this, as well as his bet with Fred about who would fall over first (Fred had won, he had bet Seamus), the song changed once again. This one was slower, darker. Something about the music sent a shiver up George's spine. He shook it off and watched as Roxie stopped moving for a second, standing still before beginning to dance again, looking down at him all the while.

She grabbed the pole with one hand and made a long, slow circuit around it, letting her free hand tug at the knot of material at her waist. After a moment, it was free, and fluttered softly to the dark floor somewhere to his left. She pulled herself up onto the metal pole once again, her eyes still trained on him. Hanging on the pole a good three or four meters above the table top, she stuck one leg out in front of her body and tucked the other beneath her. She leaned her head back and arched her spine, so that her hair hung down in a glossy curtain in front of his face. He stared up, impressed that she could hold herself suspended like that.

After a few moments, she hooked her other leg around the pole and somehow ended up spinning around and sliding to the floor. She knelt in front of him now, so close that he could see the gooseflesh on her stomach. It seemed impossible, but the music was growing steadily louder, and he felt strangely disoriented as she leaned back against the pole, hips moving along with the chorus, finally reaching out and brushing his mouth with the tips of her fingers.

A buzzing sound filled George's head and a sensation of heat crawled up his body, starting at his feet and working steadily up to his neck. Every one of his senses was threatening to overwhelm him-- the smell of smoke and liquor in the air, the sight of her glowing skin beneath the blue lights, the pulsing of the music in his ears, the tickling sensation on and taste of her flesh on his lips (her fingers tasted quite the way he imagined hand cream did, and something faintly metallic that he assumed was from the pole).

Before he could react, he was suddenly three years younger and sitting across from Fred, laughing with him as she spun between them both to some amusingly vulgar song. His twin shot him a thumbs-up and then disappeared.

The memory was so quick and so unexpected that it knocked George totally off-kilter. He pushed back from the platform, almost falling over. As he caught himself and slid off the stool , he knocked two of the remaining bottles to the floor. He heard them burst against the floor as he went for the door and out into the hallway, where he ran right into the spiky-haired guy with the lip ring.

"Watch it!" the guy said as George fell to the floor, right next to the glittery red shoes of the girl with the blonde dreadlocks.

"George?" a voice said behind him as another-- presumably that of the blonde-- said "Is this guy with you, Roxie?! What's his issue?"

He got to his feet and practically ran out of the club without turning around, quickly distancing himself from the half-naked girls and the surreal glow and the bizarre music. He still felt incredibly strange, like his head was too big for his body, and his blood was surging through his veins at Seeker speed.

Once outside, on the nearly-deserted sidewalk, he gulped cold air like it was water. Great clouds of mist issued from his mouth with each deep breath he took, forcing the smoke and smell of the room from his lungs. He stood like that on the street corner outside the club, leaning against a streetlamp until his heart had slowed to a more normal pace and his breathing wasn't quite so heavy.

He felt ridiculous, and was only glad for the fact that he had come alone. _ When would this stop?, _he thought_. Would the rest of his life be haunted with--_

"George?"

He whipped his head up at the sound of his name. Paige had just emerged from the alley next to the club and stood on the sidewalk a little ways away. She approached him slowly. "Are you all right?"

As she came into the light of the streetlamp, he could see that her hair the same shade of brown it had been three years previous. The thick-framed glasses were still perched on her nose, and she wore a charcoal-coloured wool coat and had a rainbow-striped scarf wound around her neck.

"Hi." he said weakly. _You'd think she was a Metamorphagus, _he thought. He'd seen her three times and she'd looked different every time.

"Are you feeling alright?" Her eyebrows were knitted together with concern, and a cloud of vapour appeared in front of her each time she exhaled.

"Fine." He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and attempted to square his shoulders inside his coat.

"Are you sure? You left awful quick."

"No, I-- I'm fine."

She looked at him closely, then pressed her gloved hand to his forehead. "Are you sick? You look awfully pale. Do you feel okay?"

He nodded, but she did not look convinced. "I'm okay."

"Do you want me to call you a cab? Or walk you back to the subway station? Do you think you need to go to the hospital?"

"No! No, no… really. Really, I'm fine. It was just… hot, and smoky, and the beer… I'm fine. Really." He wasn't, not even close, but there was no reason to tell her, practically a complete stranger, that.

"Are you sure? Do you want to go home?"

Being home alone at the empty flat was exactly what he did not want. He was all too familiar with what would happen if he went home now, and the last thing he wanted was to have Ginny and Ron coming home to find him crying over the box of Fred memorabilia that he kept shoved in the shadows under his bed. No, no, it would be better to stay out. "No. Everything's fine now."

"Well, that's… good." she said, withdrawing her hand and not looking particularly convinced. "How… how have you been?"

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Good. What's with your hair?"

"My hair?" she asked, reaching up to smooth it and looking slightly alarmed.

"Yeah… wasn't it just black?"

"Oh." She smiled. "I've been wearing a wig onstage. Did you like it? I like to pretend it makes me look like Bettie Page."

"Oh yeah." he agreed, having no idea who Bettie Page was. "It was just… surprising." He felt stupid. So much for being smooth. It was times like this when he wished he could Legilimence someone who knew how to impress witches-- girls, he corrected himself-- someone like Oliver Wood or Lee Jordan.

"Oh, I'm sure. I actually didn't expect you to come in. That place is a little, uh, different."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about in there, it just--"

"Oh, it's no problem."

"Usually it's a pretty cool place. But everyone there tonight was depressed, so they played super-morose music and acted like morons."

George nodded. This had been a bad idea. He hadn't gone out with friends in ages, and here he was, standing on a corner in the bitter cold with a girl he knew nothing about and had nothing in common with, just because she was pretty and had sent transatlantic letters to his brother.

"So. What do you want to do tonight?"

"Do?"

"Yeah. Unless you, ya know, want to stand out here for awhile."

"Oh… no, not really."

"Have you lived in London long?"

"No, not really." he lied, in hoped of sparing himself the decision of what to do.

"Oh, okay. Well, if it's cool with you, there's this place I've gone to that's not far from here. It's not a bad place to get a drink and do some dancing. If you'd like."

"Sure." He figured that he could spend an hour or so in a place like that with her, if it meant he could get a drink and the music was loud enough to impede coherent thought.

"Okay." she replied brightly, and motioned for him to follow her. They set off across the street, the heels of her boots clicking loudly against the pavement while she chattered on brightly about London and her flight. "So." she said finally, stuffing her hands deep in the pockets of her coat.

"So."

"Where's Fred tonight?"

He felt his stomach drop a notch or two as she said the words, but he held it together. "Had to work late."

"Oh yeah, what's he doing these days?"

"He's a--" _Shite!_ "-- a mechanic." That sounded appropriately Muggle.

"A mechanic? Really?"

"Yep."

"Wow, that's interesting. What else has he been up to?"

"Eh, not much."

"I see. So, how about you? Tell me a little bit about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you feel like telling me." she replied. Their shadows bloomed on the pavement as they walked through a bright pool of light from an overhead streetlamp, and disappeared again as they moved back into darkness.

_Oh, you know, six months ago, I was involved in a large-scale battle between the forces of good and evil in a Scottish castle that 99 of the people in the country can't see. My twin brother snuffed it and ever since then, people cry when they look at me. The usual. Did I mention that I'm a wizard? _"Well… uh… I don't know."

"Okay." she said simply.

He felt bad then. She was trying to draw him into conversation, and here he was, giving her vague, one and two-word answers. "Uh, I run my own shop." he said, trying to think of something he could share with her.

"Really? That's so cool. You manage it, or you actually own it?"

"Both. I have Ron working for me right now, and another employee named Verity."

"Wow, I'm so impressed! To have your own shop at the age of… well, just how old are you anyway?"

"I'm going to be twenty in April. You?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Hmmm. I'm going to be twenty-three in March."

He nodded, as though this information didn't make him even more uncomfortable than he already was. "Well, you know what they say. Age is just a number."

She smiled. "Oh, I see. So, what kind of store do you have?"

"A joke shop."

"Really? What does one purchase at a joke shop?"

"Jokes." he said seriously. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked at him sideways, an unpleased expression on her face. He laughed. "Sorry, couldn't help it. Let's see, you can buy--" _Nothing that I can tell you about_, he thought, slightly panicked. "--card tricks and rope tricks and all manner of stuff."

She didn't say anything for a moment. "Oh. Is that kind of stuff… popular here?"

"Yeah. Business is pretty good."

"Well… great. Sorry, I don't know anyone who's run their own joke shop before." They were approaching an intersection. A line of cars was stopped in the street, their brake lights casting a red glow over everything.

"That's all right. I've never known anyone who took of their clothes for money before."

She stopped short on the sidewalk. Too late, he realized, with a sinking feeling, what he'd said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Hey, it's okay. I know what I do for a living." She displayed a rude hand gesture and trotted along, leading him around the corner onto a brightly-lit street. "Now we're even."

He was taken aback, and she laughed. "Christ, George, I'm just teasing. No worries. C'mon, we're not far. Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll be eighties night."

Across the street, people were queued up beneath a red awning, waiting for admittance at the door of a brilliant white building lined in lights. There were girls in impossibly high heels and short skirts, guys with spiky hair and flat-front dress pants. Everyone looked young, healthy, and suspiciously tanned. George hesitated as Paige started across the street. He raised an eyebrow at her as she turned.

"You want to go _there_?"

"Kind of unexpected, huh? Yeah, it's kind of cheesy. But the drink specials are clutch." When he made no move, she grabbed his wrist. "Come on. It's not that bad. But if you hate it, I promise, we can leave and go to the loudest sports pub we can find."

Sighing inwardly, he allowed himself to be led across the way and to the back of the queue. The wait was mercifully brief, and, after being elbowed by a guy in a black fur coat even more flamboyant than anything owned by Lucius Malfoy and patted down by a bloke bigger and balder than Kingsley Shacklebolt, they went through the polished wooden doors.

The club was packed. People were everywhere, dancing and drinking beneath the multicolored lights. Almost immediately, Paige demanded that he hand over his coat and disappeared, only to come back a few minutes later without it, nor with her own.

"Sorry, coat check was mobbed." She had to get very close to be heard over the music. "You look good!"

"Thanks. So do you."

It wasn't a lie. The sight of her in her black skirt, knee-high boots, and strapless red top almost made up for his feeling like a great prat the entire evening thus far. Almost.

"You're sweet. I have to say, though, I'm disappointed. Tonight isn't eighties night."

"Eighties night?"

She laughed. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

The sheer amount of humanity was overwhelming at first, but George was quickly thankful for the anonymity. She seized his wrist and pulled him towards the packs of twenty-somethings that were undulating to the very loud music, towards the back of the club, where people stood three deep at the bar. "Wait here." she instructed, then vanished into the throng clustered around it, trying to get drinks. He hung back by the wall, trying to keep from getting jostled.

He surveyed the room. A few yards from him, two very tan blonde girls were dancing on either side of a very tall guy with very long dreadlocks. Both girls were wearing short skirts and not much in the way of tops, while the guy was dressed much as every other male in the vicinity was, with the addition of an enormous Jamaican flag belt buckle and mirrored sunglasses, even in the dark interior of the club. Everything about them was excess. They moved rhythmically under the ever-changed spectrum of colored lights, and he felt almost drunk as he watched.

After a few minutes, during which the two blondes and the guy with the dreadlocks didn't alter a step despite the song changing twice, Paige reappeared from out of the crowd. She held a drink in each hand, one of which she presented to him. He sipped. A little sweet, perhaps, maybe rather feminine, but altogether all right. He shot her a thumbs-up, sipping again through the little straw. _Easy there_, he cautioned himself. Muggle liquor didn't always work the same as regular liquor, and it wasn't like this was his first drink of the night.

"Do you want to go around the other side? There's a space at the bar that we could muscle our way into, I think."

Clutching their glasses, they worked their way around the masses until they were able to slip into what seemed like a square centimetre of space at the bar. Much to his surprise, Paige quickly drained her glass and waved at the bartender for another. Not to be outdone, George did likewise.

"Feeling competitive?" he asked, suddenly inspired as he watched, with interest, as the bartender poured out three generous shots of amber liquid for three scantily clad girls at the other end. The one in the middle held her nose as she drank it down, then coughed and sputtered all over her friends. He grinned at her ineptitude.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, so you don't remember doing head-to-head tequila shots with Seamus Finnigan three years ago?"

A slow smile spread across her face as she realized what he was talking about. "I believe I might recall."

"Think you could take on a guy taller than you?"

Her eyebrow arched just slightly as he belatedly recognized the double entendre, but she simply said, "I think I'm up to the challenge."

And so he started off by buying them each a shot. Then a second. And a third. After she downed that in one gulp, and a powerful heat was already rocketing through his belly, George wondered if, perhaps, this had not been a wise idea.

"I've got the next two." she said, withdrawing a bill from the pocket of her skirt. "Unless, of course, you're ready to declare me the winner."

"Surely you jest."

The fourth shot brought tears to the corners of his eyes, and he was rather relieved when she set down her glass in a rush and grabbed his forearm. "Let's call a draw, okay, for now? Because I love this song, and we have to go dance." She barely waited for him to nod before she pulled him away from the bar and into the swarm of people on the dance floor.

People were moving on all sides of him, and he kept knocking into them. They didn't seem to like that. His ear was pounding, and the music was so loud he couldn't separate it from his own heartbeat. Paige was barely visible in front of him, and if it wasn't for her hand on his wrist, he would have lost her awhile ago.

Finally, she decided that they had gone far enough and stopped. He plowed right into her, but she just laughed and turned to him, pulling on his wrist until he came very close to her. Then she started dancing.

It was like nothing he had really ever experienced before, this music and this dancing and this entire environment. He felt completely out of touch as she bounced around in front of him, all shaking hips and shoulders and hair. People all around him were dancing too, and he tried to keep up but just felt foolish. Paige seemed to be enjoying herself, singing along with the songs as she danced tirelessly. He noticed that the males in the vicinity were sneaking looks at her, and felt idiotic that their attention made him have jealous twinges.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him close to her. "Are you having fun?" she asked breathlessly.

He nodded, not sure if he would consider feeling claustrophobic and sweaty "fun", but not altogether unhappy to be where he was. It certainly beat the alternative.

"Me too." With that, she twirled around and continued to dance.

The song ended and another began. It was just as loud, but the beat was different. Her back was to him and he found himself staring as her bare shoulders, and the way her hair moved across them. Her hips swayed in time to the music and he found himself reaching out and resting his hands on either side of them. Much to his astonishment, she put her hands on top of his and held them there. He tried to match his own inept dancing to hers, and found himself rather enjoying the music, which made him think of coconut and palm trees, and the lyrics, which made him think of something else entirely.

_Action._ The fabric of her skirt rustled against his jeans, he could feel the friction as she moved.

_Sweet_. They were very close now, and he had his hands resting on her soft stomach, hers on top. It was almost like giving abdominal thrusts to a choking person, only he enjoyed it more.

_Action_. Her shoulders were rolling back against his chest, and her hands pressed down on his.

_Sweet. _He noticed that the guy next to them had his leg wedged between his partner's. She was dancing against it, and George tried not to think of overly amorous dogs. He shook his head and tried to focus.

_I need some action, tender satisfaction. My chemistry is flowing, can you cause a chain reaction? _Paige broke free of his arms and turned around, dancing away from him for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself against him. He rested his hands at the small of her back. As they danced, she mouthed the words and looked into his face beneath heavy-lidded eyes. He noticed that she was more than a little tipsy. He noticed that he was too.

They danced like this for awhile longer, under the pulsating lights, and he was pretty sure that he was completely rat-arsed, and totally sure that he didn't care. She beckoned for him to lean closer.

"George." Her warm breath on where his ear used to be sent a shiver up his spine.

"Yeah."

"It's really hot in here."

"Yeah."

"If we don't leave now, I think I'm going to throw up."

This was not what he expected to hear, but followed her eagerly enough through the crowds to get their coats, and then outside, the night air shockingly cold after the tropically warm environment they had just spent the past hour in.

"I have something to tell you." she said, grabbing onto his arm as they walked down the street, away from the line of people outside the club. "Those drinks I had with Seamus were watered down."

"I-- what?"

"I gave the waitress money to water down my drinks so he'd get drunk before I did." A rather hysterical giggle escaped from her mouth. "I can't actually drink that much."

"Well, I'm not sure that I can either." he mumbled as he tripped over his own feet, righting himself by grabbing onto her shoulder.

They wandered through the streets for what felt like hours, laughing loudly and stumbling over each other, crossing streets and turning corners seemingly at random. Their cheeks were pink with cold, and yet neither of them mentioned a destination or plan. Paige was in the middle of a long, rambling story about a bus ride to California when George looked up and, to his utter astonishment, saw the metal sign of The Leaky Cauldron a little ways down the block.

"Come on." he said, pulling her into the alleyway next to the pub.

Without warning, she grabbed onto the lapels of his coat and pulled. He brought his face down to hers and she kissed him deeply. In an instant, he was kissing her back, and they were falling sideways and were about to knock over the rubbish bins and he was thinking about taking her back to the flat and suddenly there was a squeezing, rushing feeling all around him and they were standing in the alley next to his shop. Even in his inebriated state, he was shocked to discover he had brought her along, via Side-Along Apparition, to the door outside his flat.

"Whoa." Paige broke away from him and bent over, swaying unsteadily as she braced her hands above her knees.

"Are you okay?"

"I-- wow. I'm a little dizzy." She giggled. "Sorry. Hey, where are we?"

"We're outside my flat."

She looked around, a look of mild bemusement in her unfocused eyes. "Oh. Can I… can I trouble you for some water before I go?"

"No trouble." he replied quietly, and unlocked the door.

Pigwidgeon kicked up an awful racket as they climbed the stairs, hooting and flapping around in his cage. George was relieved to see that Ron and Ginny weren't back yet. He tossed his coat onto the still-clear dining table and turned on the lights.

"Wow." Paige said, stopping to peer at the tiny owl as he made his way unsteadily into the kitchen. "Who's this little guy?"

"Ron's pet bird." George replied, pulling two glasses from the cupboard and filling them with water. He went back into the living room, where she was still studying the owl, who was now sitting on his perch with his chest puffed up. "His name is Pig, and he's bloody obnoxious."

"Pig." She giggled, and walked precariously over to the sofa. He handed her a glass of water, and she slopped a quarter of it on the sleeve of her coat as she sat down. "Oh, shit. Sorry."

"It's okay." he said, sitting down next to her as she shrugged out of her moist coat.

"This is a nice place you have here, George."

"Thanks. It doesn't usually look this clean. Ginny cleaned it."

"Your sister cleans your apartment?" She sipped her water.

"Only when she has to stay here."

"She's here?"

"Nah. She went out with Ron and Harry."

"Is Fred here?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Oh. Interesting." she said, turning faintly pink and smoothing the hem of her skirt. Then she slid across the sofa and kissed him. This time, he was prepared. He kissed back.

A few minutes later, he was leading her down the hallway, opening the door to his bedroom, and locking it behind them. A tiny portion of his brain was asking whether or not this was really the kind of choice he thought he should be making, but the part that sounded like Fred drowned it out in a round of Quidditch chants. _Oggy Oggy Oggy! Oi Oi Oi!_

* * *

It was dark, very dark, and warm inside the tent. Someone was flat on their back next to him; probably Percy, who always spread out while he slept. Outside, he could hear Fred singing, but it sounded far away. From his substituted lyrics, though, it sounded like the Chudley Cannons had won the cup.

_ "Georgie, 'Nuf said" Galvin Gudgeon shouted  
We're not here to mess around  
Chudley, you know we love you madly  
Hear the crowd roar to your sound  
Don't blame us if we ever doubt you  
You know we couldn't live without you  
Georgie, you are the only only only_

George opened his eyes. The room was dark and warm, yes, but he wasn't at the UK Quidditch Finals; he was in his own bed. Someone was next to him, though. For a second, George thought Ron had regressed to the age of three and come to sleep in his bed during a thunderstorm. Then he rolled over and realized that it was a dark-haired girl, wearing one of his Weird Sisters t-shirts and breathing deeply. Paige. He cursed to himself. This was going to present a problem in the morning.

His head felt too large for his body, and he was pretty sure he was still half knackered. Slowly, he sat up. Once he was steady, he got to his feet and walked, guiding himself along the wall, until he reached the living room. Ron was sprawled on the sofa, snoring softly and cocooned securely in his Chudley Cannons blanket.

"Ron." George said quietly, standing over him and poking him firmly in the shoulder. He swayed a bit as he stood.

"Whemmeroaf." Ron mumbled, turning into the sofa.

"Ron." he hissed more insistently, poking him again. Again, his brother mumbled something unintelligible and wormed his way deeper into the sofa.

"Ron!"

"What?!" he said, sitting bolt up and blinking at George. "What is it?"

"You're opening the shop in the morning."

"What? Me? Why, what's wrong with you?" he asked, rubbing furiously at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's about half-past four. And I'm worried I'll still be rat-arsed when nine o'clock comes. So you have to open the shop."

"But--"

"I'll give you an extra ten Galleons."

"Ten?"

"Fifteen."

"Sold." He yawned theatrically.

George nodded at his brother and stumbled towards the kitchen as Ron settled back into his nest of blankets. He filled a glass with water from the tap and drank half of it in one gulp. Leaving the glass on the counter, he made his way back through the living room, where Ron was snoring again. He shuffled back into the bedroom and climbed back into bed. In a matter of seconds, he was asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If you recognize the song that George dreams he hears Fred singing at the end of the chapter, you probably like either The Dropkick Murphys or the Boston Red Sox. It's a reworked version of "Tessie", a song that DKM wrote about the Sox about four years ago. The other song in that features in this chapter is "Action" by Terror Fabulous and Nadine Sutherland. Good times.

I've never been a stripper and I've never been to a strip club in London, so my portrayal of the club where Paige is making some money is an amalgamation of a whole bunch of different places and, hence, may be totally inaccurate. I picture it as this tiny, dirty place staffed with girls who subscribe to the SuicideGirls aesthetic. George is not impressed with it, except for it's offering of Muggle beer. I think he was drinking Corona.

Implied sex. What do you think? Too coy? Too chaste? Be harsh, I can take it. And how did I do balancing George's slightly twisted state of mind about Fred with his completely drunk decision to take this strange, foreign girl home? I'm going for realism here, and while I want George to like Paige, I also want his choice to sleep with her being obviously one part "you're sexy", two parts "I'm totally knackered", and three parts "I just don't want to be alone tonight."

_Muchos gracias_ to the reviewers of my last chapter: Gray Eyed Beauty, Amaherst, Milou, Ilikepie2013, and HyperLily. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I have to tell you, I have something surprising planned for next week.


	7. Chapter 7

Ginny was awakened by a loud yell. She threw back the blankets and slid out of bed, walked across the room and wrenched the door of the small office open, nostrils flaring.

"Damn it, Ron-- Oh!"

Ron was extracting himself from a tangled heap of blankets on the floor. A messy-haired girl in a dark coat stood sheepishly in the doorway leading to the kitchen, holding a pair of boots in one hand and offering the other hand to Ron. He was pointedly ignoring it.

"Sorry." she said as he finally climbed to his feet, glowering at her all the while. "Did I scare you?"

"Not at all." Ron said with a scowl, rubbing his lower back. He walked out of the room towards the loo, muttering under his breath. Ginny looked from him to the girl with the mascara smeared under her eyes.

"Hi Ginny. Nice to see you again." Paige said, flushing a particularly vivid shade of pink.

"Er… hi, Paige. I didn't expect to see you… here." she finished lamely.

"Yeah."

Ginny couldn't help but blush herself. It made her vaguely nauseous to think as to the series of events that had led this Muggle girl to be standing in her brother's flat at seven in the morning, makeup grotty and hair a fright, sneaking on a trashy pair of boots and, under her coat, wearing an inside-out top and wrinkly skirt. Her stomach flip-flopped. _A Muggle girl_, she repeated to herself. Well, it explained a lot.

"Can I make you some tea?" Ginny asked with a sigh, leading the aforementioned Muggle into the kitchen, indicating that she should have a seat at the tiny kitchen table. She quickly got the kettle filled and onto the stove, taking great care to close the curtains over the window before sitting down herself.

"Thanks."

"You gave Ron a bit of a shock, it seems."

"Oh. Yeah. I was trying to be quiet, but I guess he wasn't expecting to open his eyes and see me taking my coat out from under him."

"I suppose not."

The kettle began to whistle and Ginny was about to give it an "accio kettle" when she remembered the strange situation that she was presently entwined in. She jumped up and grabbed it from the stovetop, then brought it back to the table and poured them each a cup.

"Thanks."

"Sure. Excuse me a moment." Ginny said politely, walking briskly from the kitchen to George's room. She shut the door behind her and jabbed his snoring form in the back with her wand. When he did not respond, she poked him harder.

"Bloody hell!" he groaned hoarsely, rubbing at his back and turning over in the bed. "Ginny, what--"

"How do you expect to get her out of here?"

"What?" He sat up, moving his hand from his back to his head with a wince.

"Paige! She'll probably have a couple of thousandquestions if you just march her downstairs and through Diagon Alley."

He said nothing, just continued to rub his forehead and look confused. Finally, he laid back down. "I know the Confundus charm." he said to the ceiling.

"Well, you also know the Muffliato charm, but that doesn't mean you use it."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't you think that's a little... I don't know… shifty?"

He yawned loudly and sat back up. "Well, what would you have me do? Modify her memory? To me, that's even more dishonest. Is it just me, or is the room spinning?"

She sighed. "Well, either way, hurry up. I'm going to see Mum and I'd like to get there sometime before supper."

"All right, let me get dressed. And take a hangover potion, ugh. Entertain my guest. I'll be out in a minute."

Ginny rolled her eyes as she shut the door behind her. Back out to the living room, Ron was just finishing lacing up his trainers beneath his burgundy shop robes. He looked up as she came in. "Oi, good luck with this." he whispered, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

"Thanks." she replied. With a wave, he headed down the stairs, and she made her way back to the kitchen table.

Paige was uneasily drinking her tea. Ginny noticed that she had put on her boots and tried to smooth down her hair. "Sorry to put you out." she said as Ginny sat back down, putting her teacup gently down in its saucer. "I'll be on my way in just a second."

"It's no trouble. I just ran into George, he's on his way to walk you out."

"Oh," she said, getting to her feet, "no, he doesn't need to do that."

At that moment, George appeared in the kitchen doorway, fully dressed and stifling a yawn. "G'morning."

"Good morning." Paige said hurriedly, trying to edge past him. He caught her forearm. "Really, you don't have to walk me--"

"Don't be silly." he said, leading her gently into the living room and picking up his coat from where he had dropped it the night before. "I'd invite you to stay longer, but I've got to get to work." With this, he shot a wink over his shoulder at his sister. All she could do was shake her head in exasperation.

"Oh… okay. Well, thanks for the tea, Ginny."

"You're welcome." she replied, watching as her brother and Paige started down the steps. She just barely heard him say the word "_confundo_" before the door opened, then shut, and they were gone.

Half an hour later, after a brief shower and two cups of tea of her own, she got dressed and left the flat. It was cold again, despite the bright sunshine. She was about to Apparate when she caught sight of George out in the street, heading towards the shop. She called to him and he stopped.

"Hi." she said, emerging from the alley next to the shop onto the surprisingly crowded street. "How did that go?"

"Fine." he replied, his voice suddenly becoming overly casual.

"Oh?"

He looked around and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. "I walked her through the Leaky Cauldron and down the street a ways before I lifted the charm. She had no idea. At least I don't think so. And," he continued, looking half smug and half embarrassed, "I'm seeing her again tomorrow."

Ginny was taken aback. "Really?"

"Always the air of astonishment." he said. "Yeah, I don't know. She practically begged."

"Did she?"

"Well, no, not really. Anyway, what's the harm?"

"None. I'm just surprised. You don't leave the house for weeks, you haven't seen your friends in ages--"

"That reminds me. You're going to have to find your own entertainment on New Year's Eve. I've decided to go to Lee's. I hear he's having a party."

Ginny cocked an eyebrow at her brother. "What has gotten into you?"

"I thought you wanted me to leave the house, Gin."

"I do. I just don't understand your sudden change of heart."

He shrugged. "Well, when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know. I've got to get to work. Tell Mum what a great job I did with Christmas, it'll keep her off my back for awhile."

"I-- all right." She had little choice but to say anything else, as George gave her a wave and strode into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Through the windows, she could see groups of shoppers moving amongst the merchandise.

Across the way, a cluster of people were standing outside the display window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. _The new Cleansweep came out this week_, she thought to herself, hoping for a glimpse through the crowd. She was about to make her way back into the alleyway (there was nothing worse than being jostled by an unwitting shopper while she was trying to Apparate) when she changed her mind, instead darting over to join the crowd at the window.

"Did you see that new aerodynamically-enhanced handle?" one young wizard said to his friend, shaking his head in awe as they moved away. "I've never seen anything like it!"

It took a minute or two of sliding between people and shuffling into open spaces before she found herself close enough to the glass to get a proper look at the latest in broom technology. It was noticeably shorter than other brands-- "for the best control and manoeuvrability", according to the advert that hung next it-- and the handle was bent at a different angle, but it was handsome. The dark, shiny wood of the handle looked incredibly smooth, with a high-quality cushioned grip made of dragon hide at the top of the shaft. Each individual twig of the brush was uniformly round and clipped at an angle, and the binding that held it together came in several different color combinations, including--

"Gryffindor gold and scarlet!" A hand firmly squeezed her shoulder, and she turned quickly to scan the crowd of people behind her. "Hi Ginny!"

"Oh, Ritchie. Hi." Just behind her was Ritchie Coote, the Gryffindor in her year that had taken over one of the Beater positions left vacant by Fred and George. At his elbow was a wide-eyed girl with a cloud of strawberry blonde curls escaping from beneath a rather garish pink hat.

"Checking out the new Cleansweep too, I see. It's fit, eh?"

"Fit." Ginny repeated, trying to avoid getting elbowed in the gut as she made her way back out of the crowd and into less populous territory. Ritchie and the nervous-looking girl followed.

"How was your holiday?" he asked.

"It was nice. Yours?"

"Great! Hey, this is my sister Ellie. You've probably never met her; she's in Hufflepuff."

"Hello. I'm Ginny." Ginny smiled at the girl, who regarded her seriously with her very large brown eyes. "What year are you in?"

"Second." Ellie replied, in something like a squeak.

"Ellie's a little shy right now. It's not every day she meets her favourite Quidditch player." Ritchie said with a grin. The girl's cheeks flushed almost as bright as her hat. "You were all she could talk about after the last match."

"Oh," Ginny said, slightly embarrassed, "thanks. Are you going to try out for your house team next year?"

Ellie just nodded.

"So, what are you up to now? Where's Harry?"

She shrugged. "Asleep probably. He's on vacation this week."

"Oh yeah, that's cool. Listen, you want to grab a coffee or something? Maybe we could go over that Charms project that Flitwick assigned for the holidays."

"Oh right." Ginny said, picturing the nearly-blank parchment on the desk in George's office that she hadn't thought about in three days. "I wish I could, but I'm already behind schedule. My parents were on holiday on Christmas, and I'm actually late getting over there."

"Oi, too bad. Next time, then."

"Next time." she echoed, waving good-bye to Ritchie and his little sister and trotting back across to the alleyway next to the joke shop.

Before someone else could distract her, she turned in place. For a split second, it felt like she was being stuffed into a drinking straw, and then she was breathing great lungfuls of clean, cold air. Before even opening her eyes, she was aware of a stillness that sounded very loud in her ears after the bustling din of Diagon Alley.

The sun was bright, and she squinted a bit at the light. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, and then she was looking down a wet, slushy road towards the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the spire of the Muggle church just visible above the snow-covered knolls.

She had Apparated further from the Burrow than normal, but she had a detour to make. With a resolute look on her face, she turned around and started forward. A few dozen yards up the road, a pair of icy wrought-iron gates stood open, leading into a small cemetery.

The grave markers were capped in soft snow, and many had colourful Christmas flowers and wreaths at their feet, very bright against the layer of white. The small stone chapel looked like a Christmas card, with icicles hanging from the pitched roof and a brilliant green wreath on the doors.

Slowly, Ginny walked into the cemetery, stepping carefully between the headstones, over a small rise at the far edge, to where the wizarding deceased were buried, invisible to Muggle eyes. She made her way through the snow to a marker of pale grey marble that she had visited many times before. A wreath of greenery and red roses lay propped against it, beneath the words etched on the surface. _Keep each other safe. Keep faith, _it read, followed by _Fred Gideon Weasley, b. 1 April d. 2 May. _And, in small letters below that, _Mischief managed_.

Wordlessly, she withdrew her wand from the sleeve of her coat and traced a small circle in the air in front of her. A small circlet of white roses appeared, which she laid inside the other wreath that decorated her brother's grave.

"Merry Christmas, Fred." she said quietly, straightening up and looking placidly down at his final resting place. After a silent, solid minute, she went to leave, then thought of something else she wanted to tell him. "I'm going to make this next year worth it, for both of us."

The walk back to the road was quick, and she was glad to turn out of the cemetery and start towards home. It was only the work of a few minutes to crest the hill above the Burrow and see it tucked securely at the foot, sprawling and cheerful and mismatched. Like Mrs. Tonks' house, the garden and orchard were covered in a blanket of white, the shrubbery and plants shapeless lumps in the snow. She passed through them swiftly, to the neatly swept back steps. A rusty cauldron stood guard over them, holding a bright Christmas poinsettia.

"Ginny!" Molly Weasley said, looking up from the stove as she came through the back door. The kitchen was very warm and smelled of cinnamon and sugar. She enveloped Ginny in an eager hug the instant she removed her coat, squeezing her tightly before holding her at arms length and looking her up and down.

"You look lovely, dear. Is that a new sweater?"

"Yes. Percy gave it to me for Christmas."

"Did he?" Molly turned away quickly and bustled over to the stove, but Ginny could tell that she was welling up.

"Yes Mum. Is this the kind of holiday you had?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, filling the teapot and putting it onto the stovetop. "Tea?"

"Sure. But do you have anything to eat?"

"Eat? Of course, dear. Potato soup?"

"Great. But anyway," she continued, sitting down at the trestle table and watching her mother cross the kitchen again to pull out a pot for soup, "how was Nova Scotia?"

"Cold." Now she was at the sink, charming a small pile of sprouts to disrobe.

"And?"

"Pretty. The ocean looks different over there." She said "over there" like she meant "in space."

"Well, how was Christmas?" Ginny prompted.

"It was nice to not have to cook." Molly replied as she made a good show of laying out things for tea, not sounding at all like she meant it. "But enough about that. I want to hear all about _your _Christmas."

Ginny sighed inwardly. Sometimes her mother was as exasperating as one of her brothers. "It was nice. George did a good job. Even if he tried to baste the turkey in ketchup."

"Ketchup?" She looked scandalised as she transferred the sprouts to the pot of water and sent the tea kettle travelling over to fill the two tea cups that sat on the tabletop.

"Hermione and I fixed it. Everything turned out nicely; everyone helped with dinner. I had a lot of fun."

"I'm happy to hear that. Who was there?"

"Who do you think? Me, George, Percy, Ron, Harry and Hermione. And Pig."

"Penelope?"

"Er, no." _Probably best not to elaborate_, she thought.

"What did you do?"

"We sat around for awhile," Ginny said, omitting, for now, the failed attempt at talking to George, "then Percy showed up. And then we all helped out with supper-- Hermione and I made the turkey, Ron and Harry handled the potatoes, Percy made the mince pie, and George made the stuffing." she continued, knowing how keen her mother was on such details. "Then, while we were waiting for it to cook, your letters arrived. After that, we ate, and had dessert, and played Exploding Snap, and then exchanged gifts and--"

"What did you get?" Molly interjected, setting a steaming bowl of soup and a plate of biscuits down in front of her.

"Thanks Mum. Harry gave me this." She pulled her necklace out from beneath her sweater and displayed it to her mother.

"How beautiful." she said, settling down across from Ginny and stirring a liberal amount of sugar into her tea. "What else?"

"Hmmm… George gave me some stuff from his shop, Hermione got me a bunch of books, Percy got me the sweater, and Ron gave me tickets to see the Holyhead Harpies in March."

"Isn't that the team Alicia Spinnet got recruited for?"

"Angelina Johnson." she said around a mouthful of soup and cracker.

"I see you've been spending time with Ron. Oh yes, Angelina, that's who I meant."

"Yeah, that's the team. It'll be a good time."

"I'm sure it will be. What did George serve for dessert?"

"Firewhiskey and fags."

She almost dropped her teacup. "He served what?!"

"I'm not serious, Mum, come on. He had eggnog, pie, pudding, cake… everything, really. I actually think he made some it himself."

"Did he?" She sounded choked up again. "How was he, Ginny? Honestly?"

She sighed. She'd wondered if this was going to happen. "Honestly, Mum, I can't say. Most of the time, he seems all right. But we tried to talk to him-- Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, I mean. And he flat-out refused to talk about how he was feeling. But then he made a toast to Fred at dinner--"

Molly inhaled sharply and pressed her hand to her mouth. An errant tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Ginny put down her spoon and reached across the table, taking her mother's hand and squeezing it. "What did he say?" she whispered.

"He held up his glass to the empty chair at the foot of the table and said 'to Fred Weasley, who is greatly missed .' "

The kitchen was very silent after that, except for the ticking of the clock hanging above the fireplace. At the table, the two Weasley women held hands across the its surface. Suddenly, the hand on the clock marked "Charlie" spun from "work" to "travelling" with an important whirring sound.

"What on Earth…?" Molly said, turning to look at in surprise. With a loud chime, it spun from "travelling" and then settled on "home."

Just at that moment, Ginny's heart leapt. Running through the garden was Charlie, dressed in a dragon-hide coat and thick muffler. "Mum, look! Charlie!" Trailing behind him was a girl Ginny had never seen, dressed similarly. They hurried up the back steps as Molly jumped up from the table to open the door .

With a gasp, she pulled her son into her arms. "Oh, Charlie! Happy Christmas! What a surprise!" She was smiling, a happy, rather puzzled expression on her face as she looked from him to the girl at the door and back to Charlie.

He laughed and kissed his mother on each cheek before moving around the table and repeating the gesture with Ginny. "Hi Mum! Hi Gin! Happy Christmas!"

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, still trying to figure out who the short girl lurking by the door was, with the shy smile and the wet hair.

"Elizabeth and I are getting married!"

Molly screamed with joy, and Ginny couldn't help but join in. In the frenzy that followed, she threw her arms around her brother's shoulders as a sobbing Molly kissed him, and then she was hugging the girl, who she could only assume was Elizabeth, and they were laughing and looking at her small but beautiful silver engagement ring, and Molly was crying and hugging her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, and above it all, Charlie was beaming as Ginny couldn't remember him ever looking before.

"Merlin's beard! You lot gave a fellow quite a turn. What's all the mirth and merriment about?" Arthur Weasley stood at the foot of the stairs, a bemused smile on his face as he surveyed the room. "Charlie, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Dad, I asked Elizabeth to marry me. And she said yes. I couldn't wait to tell you, so… here we are."

The smile on his face seemed to grow by a mile. "Congratulations, son." he said quietly, then shook Charlie's hand before pulled him into a hug. "And I assume that you are the Elizabeth we've been hearing about?" he said, reaching out to shake the girl's hand.

"Yes, sir." she said, smiling happily.

"I'm Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife Molly. And my daughter Ginny. Welcome to the family."

"Thank you." she said. "Thank you very much, that's very kind of you."

"Oh, this is wonderful news!" Molly said, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her apron. "Really wonderful news. Here, come, take of your coats and sit down. Would you like some tea? Soup?"

A few moments later, they were all sitting comfortably at the table, with cups of tea and, in Ginny's case, the bowl of soup. She looked at her mother's pink, round cheeks and jubilant smile, and couldn't help but smirk to herself. Wasn't it barely over a year and a half before that her mother had been slamming things around and snapping at everyone in a 10-metre-radius, just because Bill and Phlegm-- er, Fleur-- had announced their engagement? And now, here she was, positively beaming at Charlie and his fiancée, though she had never met her and didn't even know how old she was, what her last name was, or where she was from.

It amused Ginny, but she didn't exactly blame her mother. They could all use some happy news, and there was nothing as good as a wedding (except perhaps a baby, but Bill and Fleur didn't exactly seem in a rush to put one out) to bring a bit of cheer and a good party to look forward to. That's why she was even more interested to hear that Charlie and Elizabeth were planning a short engagement.

"June, Mum. Early, maybe mid-June. Ginny'll be finished with school, the boys will have some vacation time, Liz and I'll have some downtime at that time of the season-- hatchings are mostly over, and breeding doesn't start until August."

"June! That's hardly six months away. Are you going to have enough time to plan everything?"

"Everything?" He laughed. "This isn't going to be like Bill's wedding, Mum. The ceremony's going to be small. _Very_ small. We're going to ask Kingsley to officiate, and it'll be all us Weasleys, Mr. Hayes and his wife, and a couple of friends from work and the Order. Then we'll rent some space and have a huge party for everyone else who wants to come."

"But what about attendants?"

He shrugged. "What about 'em? Liz is an only child. I've got fi--four brothers, a sister, a sister-in-law, _and _asoon-to-be sister-in-law and brother in-law. I'll get someone to be my best man, Elizabeth's dad'll walk her down the aisle, Kingsley'll say a few words, we'll walk back up the aisle, then that's when the fun begins."

"I hardly have any family," Elizabeth explained in her subtle Welsh accent, "just my dad and his wife and a couple of second or third cousins. I've never wanted a big wedding." She paused. "You know, I never really wanted to get married… until I met Charlie."

They exchanged smiles, and Ginny couldn't help but smile too. In the space of ten minutes, she had already realized that this girl was perfect for her brother. She even looked like the type of girl that she'd always pictured for him; tanned, brunette, healthy and woodsy-looking.

"I'm glad she changed her mind." Charlie said with a laugh. "And I already told her that you and Ginny'll be glad to help her with any of that girl stuff-- dress shopping and whatever. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not!" Molly said, looking teary again.

"I knew that. How about you, Gin?"

"I'd love to help."

"Great. Your taste is probably more Liz's style than, for instance, Fleur's." He grinned. "Just wait, it'll be the party to end all parties. We're going to hire a band, deck the place out, bring in the best food we can find-- _and _the best drinks, we can't forget the drinks-- and celebrate all night. Six to six, that's what I'm hoping for."

"Six to six!" Molly said. "I won't be able to stay up that late!"

Charlie's smile was infectious. "That's the idea." He laughed and leaned across the table. "I'm just teasing, Mum." he said, seizing her hand and squeezing it. "It'll be an amazing time for everyone. We've done enough moping around the last eight months. The war is over. We'll make Fred proud. We might even get Georgie to have a good time."

He pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. Elizabeth followed suit. "All right, we still have to go surprise Liz's dad with the news. Thanks for the tea, Mum, and the great reaction."

"You're going? So soon?"

"Lots to do, Mum. Lots of plans." He leaned over and kissed her. "Practice your dance steps, will you, I have at least three numbers with your name on them."

They all exchanged good-byes. Once Charlie and Elizabeth were out the door, the hand on the clock marked "Charlie" moved back to "travelling". Arthur sat back and chuckled.

"You know, Molly, I didn't expect him to be next."

"Oh, neither did I." she said, sighing happily. "But I'm so pleased."

"Who did you think would be next?" Ginny asked, anticipating that they were thinking of Ron and Hermione.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged looks and laughed. "Why… you, dear." she said.

"Me?!" In an instant, she was on her feet, eyes blazing. "What made you think it would be me?" Her mother reached for her, looking puzzled and concerned, but at that moment she couldn't have cared less. "Just why would you think it would be me who was next to get married?"

"Ginny, dear, we didn't mean any harm by it, we only thought that--"

"I'm only sixteen, you know!"

"Of course I know, we didn't think it would be for a long time yet and--"

"Well, I'm not ready to get married! I don't even know what I want to do when I leave Hogwarts, let alone if I want to get married!" she shouted.

"Ginevra Molly, what has gotten into you?!"

The sound of her given name brought her back to reality. She realised that both of her parents were staring at her in wide-eyed alarm, and that she had been standing in the middle of the kitchen, shouting and gesticulating wildly and stamping her feet on the flagstone floor like an agitated horse. Sheepishly, she sat back down.

"I'm sorry. It's just that-- well…." And she told them about the conversation over Christmas afters. "Ever since then, I just feel like… like I need some direction. I'm going to be leaving school in June, and I still have no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

"Well," Arthur said, looking relieved, "I can see what's opening up at the Ministry around that time, I'm sure you could get into some sort of summer internship program--"

"No thanks Dad, I don't think I want to work at the Ministry."

"What about Gringotts?"

"Finance doesn't really interest me."

"Teaching?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Well, what about playing Quidditch?" Molly suggested.

Ginny laughed. "Oh Mum, that's nice. But I couldn't play Quidditch."

"Why not? You can do anything you want."

"I might as well just run for Minister of Magic."

"Well, once Kingsley retires, I'm sure you'd do an excellent job with that, too."

Ginny got to her feet again, much clamer this time, and kissed both of her parents. "Thanks for the tea, Mum. I'm going to be going now, we're meeting Hermione for supper. And Happy Christmas."

"That reminds me." Molly said, disappearing into the scullery and re-emerging with a small, wrapped gift, which she handed to her. "This is from your father and I."

"And that reminds _me_." Ginny said, reaching into her coat pocket and producing a similarly-sized package. "This is from me. Don't open it yet, wait 'til after I leave." It was a handsome leather album full of old family pictures that she had collected from a variety of sources, ending with a portrait taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding-- as far as she knew, the last photograph that existed of the intact Weasley family-- just the sort of thing that would make her mother get teary again.

She said good-bye again and used the fireplace Floo connection to get back to the flat. When she emerged from the emerald flames in George's hearth, she found Ron and Hermione necking on the sofa. They jumped apart as she stepped over the grate into the sitting room.

"Oh, don't mind me." she said mildly, hanging up her coat and trying not to notice Hermione buttoning up her blouse. "Charlie's getting married."

"What?" Ron demanded as Hermione squealed loudly. "To who?"

She smiled knowingly. "He apparently has a girlfriend."

They pumped her for details for awhile, which she was only too happy to provide. As she was describing what Elizabeth looked like, someone knocked on the door of the flat. A moment later, the door opened and Percy came jogging up the steps, eyes blazing behind his glasses.

"Charlie's getting married." Ron said as way of greeting.

"Is he?" Percy said, not sounding at all interested. "Well, I have news of my own: Penny is pregnant."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I planned on updating yesterday, but my dearest friend just gave birth to her second daughter on Thursday and I absolutely had to go visit. Welcome, Lorelei Irene! I got to hold her, the tiny peanut that she is, and let me tell you, she already looks like a Harry Potter fan, LOL.

So, I thought this chapter had more words, but in the editing process, I thought to myself "it's all dialogue. You suck." Other than that fact that I can't strike a balance between dialogue and regular text, I was happy with the way this chapter came together. Of course, it's nothing like my original plan for this chapter; in its' first iteration, it ended with Ginny coming home and telling Ron and Hermione about Charlie's engagement. But you guys know-- you can't mess with inspiration, especially if it's scandalous.

What's more surprising-- Charlie's or Percy's news?

Thanks to the always inspiring persons who reviewed my last chapter: ngayonatkailanman, Amaherst, sectumsempra, Gray Eyed Beauty, and Hyperlily. Much appreciated, as always :)

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

The astonishment in the sitting room was palpable. Ron stared in shock at his brother's grim face. This was obviously not a happy announcement. He looked from Hermione to Ginny, both of whom he probably could have knocked over with a solid cough, and back to his brother, whose expression had not looked so thunderous since Fred and George had stolen his prefect badge nearly six years previous.

He decided to try and put a positive spin on the situation. "Wow, Percy, you're gonna have a kid, that's pretty--"

"I didn't say that _I _was going to have a baby. I said, Penelope is pregnant."

Silence, and then, "But… it's not… yours?" Ginny asked tentatively.

He shook his head fervidly. "I told you that she had been seeing someone else."

"So you don't know if the baby is yours?" Hermione said, sounding puzzled.

Again, he shook his head. "I know it isn't."

Ron saw Ginny and Hermione exchange looks. "How?" Ginny asked slowly.

Percy did not respond, only sank onto the sofa with his head in his hands and sighed deeply. Hermione suddenly gasped and sat down next to him. "You mean, you never…?"

"No." His voice sounded muffled from behind his hands.

"Oh, Percy." she said sorrowfully, patting his back and leaning over to try and see his face, which remained firmly placed in his hands. Ginny sat down on his other side, and the two girls traded sympathetic looks at each other over his hunched back.

Ron was confused; he had obviously missed something important. "What do you mean, he never-- oh." It was then that he understood. "Really?"

Hermione looked up angrily. "Not now!" she mouthed.

"Right." he mumbled, sitting down in the armchair across from them. Now that he knew that, thus far, Percy remained incapable of fatherhood, he didn't quite understand why he was so upset, nor why the girls were fussing so compassionately over him.

The flat door opened and shut, and George appeared on the landing a moment later. "What'd I miss?" he asked, stripping off the shop robes he wore over his street clothes and raising an eyebrow at Percy's defeated form on his sofa.

"Quite a lot, actually." Ginny said. "Charlie is getting married--"

"And Penelope Clearwater is pregnant." Hermione finished.

George squeezed his eyes shut and opened them wide, blinking as though he could not quite comprehend the words that were just spoken. "Wait, what?"

"Charlie is getting married, and Penelope is pregnant."

George looked at Ron for confirmation. "Seriously?"

"So they tell me."

"Wow, Perce, you specky little git, I didn't think you had it in you--"

"No." Ginny said, shaking her head. "It's not his."

"How the hell have we already established that?"

Ron took great pride in pointing to Percy, shaking his head dramatically, and then miming the mechanics of reproduction with his hands. George goggled at him, then turned to stare at Percy, a look of utter amazement on his face. "Really?"

"That's what I said!"

"Shut up, the both of you." Ginny said, scowling at Ron and George. "Can't you see he's upset enough already?"

"Yeah, but why?" George said, flopping onto the other armchair next to Ron. "If you already knew she was getting some on the side, and the kid is definitely not yours--"

Percy finally lifted his head from his hands and spoke. "I understand what you're inferring, George, but there's a difference between suspecting and knowing just what level her infidelity reached." He sat up stiffly. "And perhaps I had hoped for a reconciliation, however foolishly."

No one spoke, and after a minute or so, he started to get to his feet. "And now that you all know a rather embarrassing fact about my, er, _personal life_, I believe I'll be going."

"Don't be embarrassed, Perce." Ron said. Seeing his brother like this made his stomach feel strangely hollow. "So what if you're still… ya know. What she did was still bang out of order."

" 's true. Let me know next time she tries to come 'round, I'll be glad to come over and have a go at her." George said, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "Stay awhile, let me get you a drink. It'll help you feel better. Don't you want to know who our brother is marrying?"

"I suppose I am rather curious." Percy said slowly, settling back a bit. George appeared a minute later, with butterbeers for everyone except himself and Percy, who both got nearly full glasses of ice and firewhiskey.

"_Slainté_." George said, tapping his glass against Percy's and sitting back in the chair across from him. "So, what kind of bird has Charlie landed? And how did you find all this out?"

"He brought her over while I was visiting Mum. She's quite lovely, actually-- just the kind of girl that you'd imagine Charlie liking." Ginny said.

"Is she Romanian?" Hermione asked.

"I believe she's Welsh. They work together."

"Oi, that sounds like a mess." George said conversationally. "I think the Muggles have a saying, don't shi--"

"I'm familiar with the expression." Hermione said quickly.

"I'm not." Ron said.

"Well, the essence is, you shouldn't mix dating and working. But look at Bill and Fleur; they met at Gringotts--"

"No." Ron corrected. "They met at the Tri-Wizard tournament, she took a job with Gringotts to get closer to Bill." He paused. "Come to think of it, that's a pretty sweet deal."

"Still, they work together, don't they? And they're married. It worked out all right."

"I, for one, would recommend that you not become involved with anyone that you attended school with." said Percy darkly.

"Well, I'm good there." George said, stretching his arms and grinning pointedly at Ron, Hermione and Ginny in turn. "Looks like you lot might have something to worry about."

"Oh, hush. Look at Mum and Dad." Ginny retorted. "They met at Hogwarts, and they've been married for twenty-seven years, _and _had seven kids."

"Yes, and let's leave it at that." Ron said. "They are our parents, thanks."

" Well, I don't see why you should continue on in blissful ignorance. _I_ certainly learned more about the two of you today than I would have cared to know about my own siblings."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Well, there was last night, George brought home some Muggle girl. This morning, she's skulking around the living room and I had to mind her just because _someone_ got too knackered to remember that Muggles aren't accustomed to flying pictures in _The Daily Prophet_ and what happens when one says 'accio kettle!' And then I come home an hour ago and Ron's all hands on the sofa! Honestly!"

"_My_ sofa?!" George exclaimed, turning to Ron. "Isn't it enough that you sleep on it?"

Ron felt his face burning; he was sure he was a quite brilliant shade of scarlet. "No, not after that girl leaves her coat on it and practically gives me a coronary this morning, all trying to slide it out from under me! And," he turned to Ginny, "why didn't you include Percy in your too-much-information whingeing?"

"Ron, shut up."

He was about to respond in kind when Hermione held up her hand. "Harry's expecting us to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron in a few minutes. We'd better get going-- I don't want to be out all night."

"All right. You coming, Percy?" Ron asked, getting to his feet and helping Hermione into her coat.

"No, thank you." he said, draining the last of his firewhiskey and setting the empty glass on the side table. "I don't think I'm up to it this evening, but the invitation is appreciated."

"You want to stay here for awhile, Perce?" George asked. "I'm going to stay in and catch up some paperwork."

"You're not coming?" Ginny asked, stopping in the act of putting on her gloves and looking at George with unease.

"No."

"But--"

"But it's legitimately because I have to do paperwork. Next week is pay week, and what with the holidays and all, I have to spend some quality time with the ledger. Got to start the new year off right, and, let's face it, I expect this weekend to be a wash."

Ron ushered Hermione and a protesting Ginny out the door a few minutes later, leaving Percy and George in the flat with fresh glasses of firewhiskey. "So can you believe it?" he asked as they turned into the darkness of Diagon Alley, heading for The Leaky Cauldron.

"There's a lot of things I can't believe today." Hermione replied. "What specifically are you referring to?"

"Penelope Clearwater, of course. Never seemed like the type."

"No, I suppose you're right."

"And Percy! I mean, I knew he was a bit of a knob, but I never would have imagined…." He gave a quick shudder. "Charlie, though, that's great news."

"Oh yes!" Hermione said. Her voice had taken on a decidedly dreamy quality. "I'm sure the wedding will be lovely. It'll be so nice to go to one without a Horcrux hunt hanging over our heads."

"That's the truth. So when are they getting married?"

"He said they're planning on having it in June." Ginny said.

"June. Excellent. Just think, by then, our N.E.W.T.s'll be over, and everything will be…." He let his hand glide easily through the air, indicating nothing but smooth sailing ahead.

"Right." Hermione snorted, mimicking his gesture. "Then we'll just be concerned about getting jobs and paying bills and actually being grown-up."

He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of fighting Voldemort."

They were approaching the back entrance of The Leaky Cauldron. Light was spilling out of every window, through which they could see a half-filled dining area and unattended plates of food crisscrossing the room. Once they entered the warm pub, it was no trouble spotting Harry sitting alone with a bottle of butterbeer, at a large round table near the fireplace.

"About time." he said with a grin as they approached the table.

"Sorry." Ginny said, leaning down to kiss his cheek before tossing her coat over an empty chair and sitting down. "We had a bit of madness to attend to."

"To say the least." Ron said, settling into the chair next to Hermione. He tried to flag down a blonde wait-witch, who was currently serving a pair of heavily smoking chalices to two goblins at the end of the bar.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Well, Charlie's getting married--" Ginny said.

"Hey, that's great, congratulations."

"Oi, mate, you haven't heard the half of it." Ron said. "Penny Clearwater's pregnant."

Harry spit out his mouthful of butterbeer. It landed with a sound like raindrops on the tabletop, and several dark spots appeared across the front of his hooded sweatshirt. "What? " he sputtered, wiping his mouth. "What did you just say?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah, you heard right."

"_Percy_ is going to have a baby?"

"Nope."

"But didn't you just say…?"

"Oh, Ron, stop protracting the story. The baby isn't Percy's." Hermione said, shooting him an annoyed look. He tried to look contrite, but just smirked behind his hand. _Mission accomplished, _he thought, watching with something like joy as Harry's eyes become the size of dinner plates as Hermione explained to him the sordid state of affairs between Penelope and Percy.

"Hello you lot!" the young blonde wait-witch said as she breezed over to the table, smiling broadly. Ron thought there was something very familiar about her, but it wasn't until Hermione jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around her that he placed her-- Hannah Abbott, formerly of Hufflepuff.

"How have you been?" she asked, once Hermione was back in her seat.

"Good, Hannah, and you?" Harry said.

"Not too bad, thanks. Dad and I went on a long holiday after... everything. Now I'm back. Working." she said with a laugh, indicating the room around them with a sweep of her arms. "How about you?"

"Oh, about the same. Will you be taking your N.E.W.T.s this spring?"

"Leave it to Hermione to think about exams first." Ron quipped.

"No, I don't think so." Hannah said. "Right now, this suits me." She smiled cheerfully. "I get to see a lot of interesting people."

A few minutes later, they were sitting with drinks in hand while Hannah had gone to attend to a large party of giggling middle-aged witches that sat across the room. Ron was only half-listening as Hermione told an involved story about her cousin's wedding preparations when she paused and said, "Harry, are you feeling okay?"

After a long moment, Harry looked up at her. "Fine, why?"

"You seem a million miles away."

"Oh, no. Just tired, I guess."

"What did you do all day?" Ginny asked.

He shrugged. "Not much. Cleaned out some closets."

She raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Ron took a long draught of his butterbeer before setting the bottle down on the table with a satisfyingly authoritative sound. It was time to get down to business.

"So, tomorrow's New Year's Eve. What are we planning on?"

"I wasn't aware that we were planning on anything." Hermione replied, taking a delicate sip of her pumpkin juice.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, we have to do something. It's the last holiday I'm going to have for a long time, George works me like a house--" He closed his mouth abruptly, but it was too late. She turned to him, eyes blazing.

"Like a what?"

"Like a-- oh look, here comes our food!" he said, louder than was necessary, and hopped to his feet to collect the plates that glided towards them from the kitchen. He distributed them with gusto, finally laying a chicken and rice dish gently in front of Hermione, kissing her cheek as he did so.

"You're completely irksome." she said, but she was laughing now. _Success_, he cheered to himself.

"George told me earlier that he's going out tomorrow night." Ginny said.

Ron choked on his mouthful of noodles. "Not with that girl?"

"No, I think he said he's going to Lee's."

"So let's stay in, then." Hermione said, looking relieved. "I really don't want to go anywhere, I'm supposed to visit my parents on New Year's day."

"Stay in?!"

"Oh hush, Ron, you can drink in the flat just as well as you can anywhere else. How about we invite some people over?" Ginny asked. "I doubt that George'll mind."

"I'm sure we can get Seamus and Dean to come by. All they do now is go to Muggle pubs." Harry said. "And Neville would come, too."

"I'll owl Parvati and Padma. And let's ask Hannah if she'll want to come." Hermione suggested.

"Oi, well, why don't I just get on the fellytone with Malfoy, then? I'm sure he'll want to join us."

Harry laughed.

"Don't be so miserable, Ron. It'll be fun." Ginny said.

"I suppose." he grumbled, shovelling in another bite of noodles.

xXx

Late that night, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, a book open in front of him. He was thoroughly engrossed, mouthing the words silently as he read along.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped, startled, knocking over his glass of milk and almost falling out of the chair. George stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking puzzled.

"Oi, don't sneak up on me like that!" He pulled his wand out of his pocket and used it to siphon the milk off of the table and his book.

"Sorry. What are you reading?"

Ron closed the book so George could see the cover: _The Complete N.E.W.T. Review, _by Reginald Assiduous III. "Just this."

"You're _studying_?" George asked incredulously, sitting down across from him. "You're really going to sit for them, aren't you?"

"Well… yeah."

"But, Ronniekins, what about the family business?" There was humour in his voice, but Ron could also tell that there was a legitimate question in front of him as well.

"I didn't say one way or another whether I'm actually going to leave the shop. I like working there. But as far as 'family' business goes, it really isn't mine. It's yours and Fred's. I'm just… filling in."

"So, in other words, you're only there temporarily?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I haven't actually thought about doing anything else, but I do think I should take them, just in case. What if things work out between you and that Muggle?"

George let out a bark of laughter. "What 'things'? There's nothing to work out, we just…. There's no 'things', I assure you. Tomorrow, she'll go back from whence she came, and I'll never see her again. It might be hard for you to believe, considering the whole Hermione thing, but just because I happened to meet a girl that I, uh, spent some time with doesn't mean it's 'twu wuv'."

"You're a real prat sometimes, you know that?"

"I've heard it once or twice." he responded with a deviant grin. For an instant, he looked so much like the old George, and the old Fred, that Ron almost wanted to cry. He was immediately grateful that George continued on without noticing. "Charlie getting married to some girl we've never met, Percy being pure as freshly fallen snow, you studying. I can honestly say that this is one of the most peculiar days I've ever had."

"Tell me about it." Ron said with a snort. "How is Percy, by the way?"

George shrugged. "Eh, who knows? He was sloppy drunk an hour after you left, so I Flooed him home. Wouldn't ya know, sitting on his table is a letter from the shameless tart. I tried to convince him to give it a good _reducto_, but he went and opened it."

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

"A fiasco, basically. There was a bunch of noise about how sorry she was, she wants to come home, they can raise the baby together, blah blah."

"Wow, that's--"

"Bollocks? Yeah."

"Was he upset?"

George sighed instead of answering, tenting his fingers in front of his face. "Ronnie," he said after a while, "He cried. He actually cried. I didn't know what to do with him. Finally, I poured him another drink-- you should see the stuff he's got over there, I'm almost impressed. Then he started raving…. Well, finally I Stupefied him and dragged him to his bed. I had half a mind to try and modify his memory, but I figured that would just cause more trouble." He shrugged. "Well, needless to say, I didn't get too much work done tonight."

"Oi." Ron said softly, feeling bad then for making fun of his brother over dinner.

"Pretty much." He got up from the chair and stretched theatrically. "All right, I'll leave you to your studies then. Thanks for opening for me this morning."

"No problem." He watched as George shuffled out of the kitchen.

The floor creaked as he made his way back to his room. Ron sat in the silence that followed for a long while, staring at the wall and turning things over in his head. Then he got to his feet and walked into the sitting room. Instead of settling onto the sofa, however, he grabbed the can of Floo powder off of the mantle. He tossed it into the empty fireplace, whispered his destination so as not to wake George or Ginny, and then disappeared into the flames a moment later, spinning like a top as he went.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Surprise again, LOL. Poor Percy, I'm giving him a rough time. I'm pretty sure that Ron went to go check on him at the end of the chapter. That's one of my favorite things about the Weasleys-- they take care of each other. Short chapter this week, I had a bit of difficulty writing with Ron as my focus, and I also wanted to keep the plot development rather minimalist in light of the Percy-Penny drama.

Next week's update (New Year's in the middle of April, swell!) will feature some other characters we haven't heard from yet, mostly old Hogwarts classmates. I'm excited.

ありがとう (-- thank you in Japanese, with my regards to babelfish for telling me this) to those fine folks who reviewed the last chapter: WaffleNinja, Gray Eyed Beauty, Hyperlily, Amaherst, and respitechristopher.


	9. Chapter 9

There was something about the man that was familiar, but he couldn't decide what exactly it was. The man's face was rather nondescript, there was nothing particularly remarkable about his close-cut dark hair, but he was very broad in the shoulders and chest-- almost abnormally so. George watched absently as he moved past and away into the crowd.

It was a beautiful day, almost as warm as springtime, and Diagon Alley was appropriately crowded. He and Ron had taken their lunch break together and had met Percy and Ginny at Florean Fortescue's newly refurbished cafe. They sat at one of the round tables on the sunlit patio, eating ice cream while Percy proselytised on the impending Ministry appointments.

"... and can you imagine, Kingsley actually suggested that we hold elections! What are we, Muggles? This is solely a one-party system, and I..."

George tuned out again. Ron took a hearty gulp of his milkshake, catching George's eye and rolling his own in the process. Ginny was absently studying the melting pink ice cream in her dish, poking at its smooth surface with the tip of her spoon. George carved a chunk out of his sundae and crammed it into his mouth, his mind on anything but government reconstruction.

The barrel-chested man was back now, moving purposefully past a pair of stylish young witches laden with shopping bags. He stepped onto the patio and crossed slowly behind Percy, who was so wrapped up in the sound of his own voice that he barely noticed anyone. George watched with mild interest as the man edged past some young wizards and went into the ice cream parlour, where the sun glare on the window prevented him from seeing inside.

"George?"

"Huh?" he said, turning away from the window. "What?"

"Percy asked who _you _think should run the Auror office." Ginny said, nodding her head to where Percy sat, finally quiet, hands folded in his lap and looking interested.

"Oh, uh, how about Dawlish? Always on top of things, he is."

He sensed movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head.

The broad-shouldered man stood just beneath the shop's awning, blocking the entire doorway with his large frame. He moved his hand beneath his cloak, and in a terrible instant, George knew where he recognized him from. He jumped out of his seat, fumbling for his wand, overturning the table in the process. It hit the ground with a crash, and ice cream flew everywhere.

"George, what the--"

"_Avada Kedavra!" _the Death Eater yelled, as a jet of green light shot from his wand and into Percy Weasley's back.

"No!" George cried into the chaos that erupted, finally pulling his own wand from his pocket and pointing it directly at the cloaked man.

All around him, people were running and screaming and diving behind tables. Percy was slumped sideways in his chair, blank eyes staring down, and glasses only slightly askew. Ron was trying to drag him away from the Death Eater. Ginny stood next to George, wand out and ready as the man advanced.

"_Expellia_--" George called, but the man feinted to the left and blasted another horrifically accurate killing curse at Ron, who crumpled to the ground at Percy's feet. George's blood turned to ice in his veins as he stared, uncomprehendingly, down at the lifeless forms of his brothers.

"_Avada Kedavra._" Ginny said, low and dangerous.

Looking up, George was astounded to see her own wand issue a short green burst at the Death Eater, who ducked at the last possible second, surprisingly agile for such a large man. He shot one back, and George and Ginny dove apart.

He skidded across the patio, scraping his side and back along the pavement. It took him a second to get back up, shirt torn up and his skin scratched and bleeding. The Death Eater held his wand aloft and, too late, he realized his own wand was back where he had fallen.

"_Stupefy!_" Ginny cried, just as George yelled "_Accio wand!_"

He caught it and spun, just in time to see a green flash of light hit his sister full in the face.

She fell forward with a crash, bringing down another table with her. Amidst a chorus of glass dishes smashing against concrete, George let out a loud cry. He turned to the Death Eater, who was just steps away, and pointed his wand at him with such force that his muscles started to cramp. Every fibre in his body felt like it was on fire--

"George?"

A beautiful girl with long velvety eyelashes and dark crimson lips stood above him, a soft glow surrounding her like a halo. Her face was gentle, a look of concern clouding her dark eyes. Downy white wings were folded behind her. _Wow_, he thought, _there really is such thing as an angel_.

And then he saw that her hair was up in curlers, and the halo was an offensively bright recessed light, and she was wearing a dark green robe trimmed, inexplicably, in feathers. Then, he was sitting up and rubbing his eyes and realising he had been asleep in Paige's hotel room and the Death Eater in Diagon Alley had all been a bad dream.

"George, are you all right?"

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep." he said, scrubbing the last traces of the nightmare from his eyes with his fist. "What time is it?"

"Going on five. Are you sure you're okay? You were yelling."

Still feeling disoriented, he shook his head. "Yelling? What did I say?"

She sat down at the end of the bed and began unwrapping her hair from the enormous rollers. "Well, first you were yelling for Ron. Then you said something like 'abracadabra', and then you just... yelled."

He watched as she took down her hair, running her fingers through the large curls as she worked. Something twisted in his stomach, his heart was still galloping in his chest, nad then the words were forcing their way out of his throat. "Fred died."

"What?" she asked, distracted, as she yanked on a roller that was stuck around a loop of hair.

"Fred died."

Her hands fell from her hair and she half-stood. The curlers tumbled from her lap onto the floor, rolling everywhere. "He... what?"

"Paige, Fred died. In May."

"Oh my God." she breathed, sinking back down on the bed, a hand pressed to her mouth. When she brought it down so she could speak, it was smeared with red lipstick. "How?"

George took a deep breath. "He was killed in the war--"

"The war?!"

"You-- you know about the war?" he faltered, confused.

"Of course. Was it... was it in Iraq?"

"Iraq?"

"Oh George!" She slid across the rumpled duvet, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "How... how did it happen?"

He wrapped an arm around her and used the other hand to pat her back awkwardly. "He was with Percy. They were fighting and... and there was an explosion. Part of a wall fell in, and onto him. Percy dug him out, and brought him into a niche. H-he stayed with him so that nothing would happen, but by the time Bill and I found them..." He trailed off when he realized that something warm and wet was falling fast onto his shoulder and trickling down his back. She was crying.

"You were there too?" she whispered.

"My whole family was."

She gasped wetly. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"You couldn't have known."

"Did… did they let you all come home, or did any of you have to stay?"

"We stayed until the battle was over. Then we all came home."

She took a shaky breath. "Oh, God. Then what happened?"

"Well, we buried him. In a little cemetery in the town we grew up in. It was… it was hard. But after a week or so, Dad went back to work. So did Bill and Percy. Charlie went to Romania, and Ginny went back to school. Ron moved in with me."

She tightened her grip around him. "Oh, George, I'm so sorry. I didn't have any clue that your whole family was in the army."

_What exactly are they telling Muggles these days? _he asked himself. "Not all of us were in the Army-- only Ginny, Ron, Fred and I. The others were just in the Order."

After a moment, she laid her cheek down on his shoulder and spoke against his neck. "I can't believe it. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, George." She pulled away from him and wiped at the black streaks on her face, where mascara and tears had rolled down her cheeks and chin.

"Thank you. I-- I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's hard for me to talk about."

"I can't even imagine."

There was a long silence. There was that look again, that look that he hated. But no, it wasn't pity. It was just sadness. Suddenly, she shook her head.

"Wow, I can't even believe it. The whole thing… it's so much like _Saving Private Ryan_."

"Like what?"

"_Saving Private Ryan_. Did you ever see that movie?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh, it's good. It's about these soldiers in World War II trying to find this guy named Private Ryan because his brothers--" she stopped abruptly, looking embarrassed. "Well, I'll tell you about it some other time. But doesn't losing Fred make you wish the war was over?"

"Over? I--"

"Yeah. Like, don't you want to just go up to your president-- well, I guess he's your minister-- and say 'look, jerkoff, my six brothers and sisters fought your dirty war and my twin died and still you send more people over there and for what?' "

It was then that George got the feeling that they were talking about two distinctly different things. "I never really thought about that." he answered cautiously.

She got up from the bed, crossing the room to study herself in the mirror. Their eyes met in the reflection, and she smiled sadly. "You're a good person."

"No, I'm not." After a pause, he continued. "You're going to be late."

She sighed. "I guess you're right."

He watched as she pulled the remaining rollers from her hair and tried to wipe at her ruined make-up with tissues, to no avail.

"What time is it?"

"Five-twenty." he replied, after a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table. Without warning, she sprinted towards the bathroom and shut the door. A second later, he heard the sound of running water.

Still feeling discombobulated from his dream and the divergent conversation he had just had with Paige, George got out of the bed and scooped up his shirt from the floor. Once it was on, he began the arduous task of trying to locate his socks. One was half-under the night table, and the other was, inexplicably, on the other side of the bed. Socks in hand, he sat back down on the wrinkled duvet cover and began to put them back on.

A few moments later, the noise of the shower cut off just as quickly as it had gone on. The bathroom door opened, and Paige emerged, wrapped in the absurd bathrobe and dripping wet. Her hair was wrapped up in a fluffy bath towel, and face was perfectly clean and make-up free, as he had never seen it before. He watched, amazed at how young she looked, as she hurried around the room, collecting errant rollers.

"What, what is it?" she asked, straightening up to find him watching her.

"You look so different without all that stuff on your face."

Rollers in hand, she made a face and headed back for the bathroom. He followed, only wearing one sock. "It's not a bad thing." he said, stopping in the doorway. She unwrapped the towel from her head and used it to wipe the fog from the mirror.

"Thank you." she replied, picking up a comb and going to work on her wet hair. "I look like I'm seventeen, though."

"So?"

Paige turned from the mirror. "So… you tell me."

"How about I show you?" he responded, stepping further into the bathroom.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, but she was still smiling.

The voice that sounded like Fred snorted loudly. _That's what I was wondering, mate. "_I have no idea." He shut the door behind him.

Barely half an hour later, he stood in the hallway outside of her room, watching as she locked the door and tucked the keycard into her outlandishly tiny black handbag before they started towards the elevator.

"We made good time. No thanks to you."

"I didn't hear you complaining."

"Nor will you." she said, stopping at the brass doors and pushing the elevator's call button. The brass doors slid open, and they stepped into the small space, carpeted in red paisley and covered in beige wallpaper heavily adorned with gilt-framed mirrors. He studied her reflection, all strapless dress and wavy hair and crimson lips. She caught his eye.

"You clean up pretty nice."

"You flatter me, George."

"Nah."

They rode the rest of the way down to the ground floor in silence. When the doors slipped open again, they were in the vast-- yet surprisingly quiet-- lobby. Soft music played from an unseen source, and he could see their respective destinations as they stepped off the elevator; hers, the swanky, dimly-lit refectory across the lobby, his, the exit door straight up the concourse.

She stepped off of the elevator and turned to him, an sort of awkward smile on her face. "I've had fun with you."

"Me too."

"Well…." She let the word draw out in silence.

"Are you planning on coming back?"

"Of course. I really like it here. Can I look you up next time I'm in town?"

"Of course."

She leaned forward to kiss him chastely on the cheek. In her heels, she was almost as tall as he was. "Good-bye, George."

"G'bye."

Then she walked away, towards the crowded dining hall. At the French doors, she stopped and turned, smiling at him once more. Something strange happened in his stomach then, but he ignored it, instead raising his arm and giving her a small wave. She returned it, and then walked through the doors. He watched until her red dress disappeared from view, then headed out of the hotel and into the street, already crowded with New Year's revellers. It took him longer than normal to find a dark alleyway from which he could Disapparate.

He arrived back at the flat a few moments later, not alltogether surprised to find the door unlocked and very loud conversation from above, clearly audible as he climbed the steps.

" 'ey, George!"

Ron, Harry, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and some dark-haired guy George only vaguely recognised from the halls of Hogwarts were sitting around the dining table, playing cards. Bottles and glasses of assorted libations littered on the tabletop and the sideboard. From the front of the flat, he could hear loud female laughter.

"Gentlemen." George said, tossing his coat on the sofa.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, slamming a fan on cards down on the table with unrestrained glee.

"Out." he replied mildly.

"With who?"

"Nosy git, aren't you?"

"I thought you were going to Lee's?"

"That's my next stop."

"Oi, George, you want to play?" Dean asked, motioning for him to join them at the table.

"What are we playing? Exploding Snap?" He slouched into the empty seat next to Ron, pouring what he thought was gillywater into an empty glass. He took a swig, them promptly spit a fine mist of liquid all over the table. "What the devil is this?!" he yelled, coughing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "It's vile!"

Seamus, who was already flushed, laughed rather hysterically. "It's gin!" he called, elbowing the black-haired bloke and motioning for him to hand George the jug from the centre of the table. "Here, try it with pumpkin juice. 's not bad."

"_Anything_ would be better than that, it tastes like a Potions project Snape gave us once." George added some of the pumpkin juice to his glass, the brought it warily to his mouth. "I failed." With a deep breath, he tipped it back.

"Well, what d'ya think?" Seamus asked eagerly, watching for his reaction.

"Piquant." he replied with a grimace. "It's like pie with a firewhiskey chaser. Ugh." He set the glass down and pushed it away with one finger. "Okay, I'm in."

"D'you know how to play poker?" Harry asked.

"What the hell is poker?"

"Muggle game." Dean responded, sweeping the cards into a pile and handing it over to the dark-haired guy. "Here, Justin, you deal."

"No thanks." George said as he began to distribute the cards, passing his over to Ron.

"Oi, you prejudiced?" Dean said with a grin.

"Me? I'm from the biggest family of blood traitors this country's ever seen. I've got nothing against Muggles… I just think their games make no sense. You ever see that thing they call American football? I've never seen anything with more convoluted rules."

The bloke called Justin quickly distributed the cards. George watched, interested, as they ran through a few rounds, with Ron winning almost every time.

"We should have been playing for money." Ron said, once again laying down a hand of winning cards and tossing back a tiny glass of vile-smelling amber liquor in one mouthful. "I wouldn't have had to work for a week." Someone knocked loudly on the door of the flat, and Ron called loudly for them to enter. "Come on up!"

"Who else are you expecting?" George asked, listening to more than one set of footsteps on the stairs.

"Neville!" Dean called jovially, waving as Neville Longbottom entered the sitting room, a too-small knit hat pulled over his head and two scarves wrapped around his neck. Behind him, wearing a long coat, mismatched mittens, and a dreamy smile, was Luna Lovegood.

"Hullo everyone! Happy New Year." he said, sounding somewhat muffled as he began unwinding his first scarf. "Bit chilly out there."

The creaking of the office door and a chorus of excited hellos signalled that the female contingent had joined the festivities. In the frenzy of greetings that followed, George found himself being hugged tightly by one of the Patil twins before stumbling, quite literally, over Luna, who had been humming to herself while unbuttoning her coat.

"Oh, hello George." she said sweetly, pulling off one orange mitten and one lilac-coloured one and stuffing them into her pocket. "Is this your house?"

"Hi. This is my place, yeah."

"It's lovely."

"Thank you."

"Ginny tells me that your shop is doing very well. I still haven't gotten to see it yet. I came to Diagon Alley before Neville and I went to Costa Rica, but we didn't make it this far down. Is business good?"

"Er, yeah, it's great. How… how was your holiday?"

"Very nice, thank you. Daddy and I went to Kenya. We were looking for the Banded Bulbous Snarfblat."

"Oh yeah? Did you, uh, find it?"

"No, no we didn't, unfortunately. We did see giraffes, though. They were quite wonderful. And I'm sure I saw a hoopsnake on Christmas Eve, that was very exciting."

"Sounds like it."

"How are you getting along? Are you still very sad about Fred?"

In his mind, it was a warm afternoon in early May, and he was watching himself, in a too-bit suit of Bill's and an overly starched shirt, standing on the new grass that covered his brother's grave. Luna was there, scratched and bruised and sporting an old lady-style lace shawl, speaking in her breathy, lilting voice about listening for Fred's voice in quiet moments. He had heeded her words on countless occasions since that terrible day, and did find that, in odd instants, he could still hear his brother.

George regarded the present-day Luna with a serious expression. "I am, sometimes. And it's still hard for me to talk about. But there's times… well, I know I can go on alone, even though I don't want to."

She nodded solemnly. "That makes a lot of sense. Ginny and I have talked about this quite a bit. She is worried about you, you know. I told her that you are strong, but you should remember that you can talk to your family. They lost him too, and I'm sure they want to comfort you when you're feeling sad."

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. She spared him from having to, though. "It's been nice talking with you, George. I hope we can do I again soon. But if you'll excused me, I'm going to go tell Parvati that there's a wrackspurt flitting around her. I think it likes her gold barrette." With a friendly squeeze of his forearm, she crossed the room and was swallowed up by a gaggle of girls.

Shaking his head in bemusement, he slipped unnoticed into his bedroom, where he changed his shirt and ran a comb through his shaggy hair, arranging it to obscure the side of his head where his ear used to be. His fingers lingered at the place that hadn't been disfigured a scant sixteen months previous. It seemed insignificant, though, when he considered what he had lost in the past twelve.

Before he could get sentimental, however, he forced himself to rejoin the group in the sitting room. There were two groups again, one playing cards, one clustered around the Patil twins, who had taken out-- he did a double-take. _Is that a scrying bowl?!_ he asked himself. A dishwater-blonde girl shifted out of the way, and he was able to determine that, yes, it was indeed a scrying bowl perched on the scuffed coffee table.

"Leaving without saying goodbye?" Harry asked, as George attempted to slide into the stairwell without drawing anyone's attention.

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he replied with a grin.

"Well, far be it from me to call attention to this event."

"Well said by the man with the invisibility cloak."

It was Harry's turn to grin. "Happy New Year, George."

"Happy New Year."

He hurried down the stairs and, just outside the flat door, turned on the spot. A bare second later, he was standing on the doorstep of Lee's parents' tidy townhouse on the outskirts of a Muggle town some ninety miles north of London. Light spilled from every window, and he could hear music and laughter. Swallowing quickly in hopes of stopping the butterflies that were making circuits around his gut, he raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door.

Lee opened the door, looking much as George expected him to, with the perennial dreadlocks and a loudly-patterned shirt. His eyes widened, and a familiar smile spread across his face. "Well, look who it is. Come on in, mate. Hey, everyone!" he called over his shoulder. "George Weasley's here!"

A cheer rose from the crowd as he stepped into the house. Familiar faces smiled at him from every direction as Lee shut the door and clapped him heartily on the back-- many Gryffindors, with plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, most from his year, along with some older and younger Hogwarts alumni in attendance. He felt like some of sort of celebrity, and even more so as people appeared from other rooms to say hello.

"Hey, George!"

"Good to see you!"

"Hey, Weasley, how's business?"

"Oi, we were taking bets on whether or not you'd put in an appearance!"

As he made his way through the crowd, smiling and waving and accepting handshakes, Oliver Wood stepped in front of him, sinewy arms crossed in front of his chest and an unwelcoming expression on his face. "Looks like I lost. I bet you wouldn't show." George was momentarily speechless. It was only when Oliver broke into a grin and threw his arms around his shoulders in a lung-constricting, masculine sort of hug that George found his voice.

"Merlin, Wood, what are they doing to you up in Puddlemere?"

"Not stopping me from sending owls to you." he said with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Maybe they're stopping them from returning with my many replies?" George suggested mildly.

Oliver tossed back his head and laughed, patting George on the shoulder as he did so. He tried not to flinch with each blow. "It's good to see you, very good to see you."

"You too. Happy holidays."

"Oi, same to you!" He stepped closer and dropped his voice. "I'm sure you get this every time you go out the door, I've been worried about you, George. How're you doing?"

"You're right, I _do_ get that every time I leave the flat. But I've been all right. Busy."

"That's what I hear."

"George!"

A blur of olive green interrupted them at that point. It was Alicia Spinnet, who raced down the steps, the full skirt of her dress flapping like wings. She squealed loudly and leapt at George, squeezing him tightly and jumping up and down like a little girl on Christmas.

"Hi." he said, gently disentangling himself from her grip. "How've you been?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I was just telling Harry last week how much I've missed you. How are you?"

"I'm doing all right, thank you."

"Just all right?" She took one of his hands and was starting to give him sad eyes when Lee elbowed her.

"Come off it, will you? None of that tonight. Let the man enjoy himself if he wants to."

"Thank you." George said, more to Lee than to Alicia, though he smiled down at her. "I'm doing pretty good, most of the time."

She processed this. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

Alicia scurried off. George breathed a mental sigh of relief and turned to Lee. "Thanks Lee." he said simply.

"No problem. The way I see it, if you wanted to be sad, you wouldn't be here."

"So true. So, what've I missed?"

Lee shrugged. "Nothing too unusual. Ken Towler had a melodramatic row with his girlfriend about a minute after walking through the door; some gits from Ron's year showed up, trying to get people to play something called poker--"

"Oi, they're at my place now."

"Angelina stirred up a fuss, too," Oliver said, "showing up with--" He trailed off as the aforementioned Angelina came into view, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room. She crossed the room in a few long strides, sweeping George into a hug.

"I'm so happy you're here." she said, finally releasing him.

"So am I. You look... great." She did, in fact, look amazing, in a black-and-white patterned blouse and wide-legged white trousers. Her hair was hanging loose around her face, and her dark skin seemed to glow in the light.

"Thank you." she said with a smile. "It's great to see you."

"You too. How's Quidditch?"

"Oh, it's ace. I really adore it. I can't wait to get back out on the pitch."

"Yeah? When does training start back up?"

"The first of February. First match of the season is coming up in mid-March."

"Yeah, Ron got Ginny tickets for Christmas. She's excited."

"Oh, that's great! You should come too-- the opener's against Puddlemere." She stuck her tongue out at Wood, who returned it with a rude hand gesture. "It's bound to be a great match."

"Here you are, George!" Alicia had returned with a bottle of butterbeer for him.

"Thanks, Alicia." As he took it from her, he noticed a wiry, dark-skinned guy with short bronze dreadlocks. He stood alone by the wall, studying the wide-plank flooring and sipping at a glass of neon-green liquid. After a few moments, he looked up, and George recognized him almost instantly. "Isn't that Davi Bezerra? That chap they recruited from Brazil to play Chaser for the Pride of Portree?"

"It sure is." Alicia responded.

"What's he doing here?"

Alicia looked at Angelina and giggled. George looked from the shorter girl to the darker girl, who was blushing.

"I brought him. He's-- he's my boyfriend." Angelina said. Both girls broke into giggles as George looked from her to Davi, and then back again.

"But… isn't he young? Eighteen or so?"

"Seventeen." she replied, and her face became even redder. "You wouldn't know, though." Again, high-pitched titters, and then she waved her arm to catch Davi's attention. He looked over, and she motioned for him to join them.

"Hi." He joined Angelina, Alicia, Lee, Oliver and George. "Your floor is very nice. I think that's Brazilian wood." he said to Lee.

"Thanks. I'll tell my folks."

Angelina placed her hand lightly on her boyfriend's arm. "Davi, this is my friend George. We played Quidditch together at Hogwarts. George Weasley, this is Davi Bezerra."

"Angelina has told me a lot about you." Davi said, shaking George's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." George said. "I mean, most of my information on you comes from the Quidditch reports in the newspaper, but... Well, it's nice to meet you too."

The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly. George spent most of the evening talking Quidditch with Davi, who turned out to be very friendly. Alicia, Angelina and Katie had also convinced him to dance with them (after a good glass or three of firewhiskey), after which he staunchly refused to approach the dance floor again. People drifted up to him every now and then, to say hello and ask after him. Very few people looked at him strangely, and everyone who spoke of Fred was very kind and respectful. He accepted a good deal of condolences, but, all in all, Lee's party was much more successful than he had anticipated.

At a few minutes to midnight, he was sitting on one of the overstuffed armchairs in the Jordans' sitting room, listening to Katie Bell relating a story about Professor McGonagall's transfiguration class from their fourth year. Alicia was perched on the arm of the chair, holding his hand in her lap.

"… and then he says, "no Professor, that's not the case at all. I _did_ know that was going to happen.' You should have seen the look on her face, it was classic! And I thought Fred was going to wet himself!" George laughed, clearly remembering the look on McGonagall's face as well as his brother's bout of conviviality.

"Oi, come on, everyone." Lee said, vaulting over the back of the sofa and landing between Katie and an auburn-haired Ravenclaw alumnae named Linda. "Turn on the Wireless, it's almost time for the countdown."

Angelina, who was closest to the Wizard Wireless set, turned it on, filling the room with the sound of Malachi Redbone's Enchanted New Year's Eve, which had been on the air every December 31st for as long as any of them could remember.

"We're just about a minute away from midnight now, from that magical time known as the witching hour. I'd like to ask everyone listening in at home to join us in thanking The Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck for their performances this evening.

"Let's observe a moment of silence now for all of those we've lost in the past twelve months, most especially those who fell in the war against Voldemort."

In the silence that followed, Alicia's warm hand closed tighter around George's. All around the room, everyone's heads were bowed. He squeezed back, quickly.

"Thank you." The smooth voice of Malachi Redbone spoke again. "Let's check our official clock… and it looks like we're about twenty seconds out now. I'd like to thank our sponsors, Quality Quidditch Supplies, located at number 31, Diagon Alley. Visit them today and see the newest Cleansweep.

"All right, witches and wizards, we're about twelve seconds away now-- join me in the countdown at ten--"

All around Lee's house, the guests joined in the chant.

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

"Seven!"

"Six!"

"Five!"

"Four--"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Stupid work. I really wanted to update last week, but, due to career ridiculousness, I barely have a paragraph complete for the tenth chapter and that gives me anxiety. Plus, I started another story, of which I have two chapters (in about ten minutes, there'll be three) up. They're short, though.

So, OMG, pop culture references-- this chapter's got 'em. Who can name one? And who noticed that I completely ignored canon in the beginning of the chapter, with the mention of Iraq? Sometimes I can't help but use a bit movie canon-- i.e. the story takes place in the present day instead of 10 years ago, Oliver Wood looks like Sean Biggerstaff, etc. Anyway, sorry, it just sort of came together like that. I'll tell on myself if it happens again. You tell me if you notice other stuff-- I forget details sometimes, and, what with the RDR/Rowling trial, I try not to spend too much time on the HP Lexicon. I keep expecting it to disappear.

_Mele kalikimaka _(yeah, I know it means Merry Christmas) to the delightful HP fans who reviewed my last chapter-- it had the most I've received for a chapter yet! Woohoo! So, thanks to: Amaherst, mommato2beauties, respitechristopher, Gray Eyed Beauty, Hyperlily, cinroc, Heart of the Phoenix, and Waffleninja. I will hum your praises all through the next week. _  
_


	10. Chapter 10

On the morning of January second, Harry yawned his way through the Ministry Atrium, past the security gate ("hello, Eric" he mumbled as he passed), into the lift, and down to the sixth floor, wanting nothing more than to go home and go back to sleep.

He had gotten back to his little flat in the Muggle part of London just after seven the previous morning, after a long night of New Year's festivities. Bill and Fleur had showed up at their party just after midnight, toting bottles of champagne and singing "Auld Lang Syne." George had returned from Lee's not long after, in a rather foul mood that eased considerably as Bill plied him with drinks. More and more people had shown up, bearing New Year wishes and alcohol. Harry had finally begged out not long before sunrise, having almost fallen asleep three or four times on a pile of coats near Pigwidgeon's cage.

The first day of the new year was pretty much a blur to him; he'd spent most of it trying to catch up on sleep. It had been capped off by a quiet dinner at the Burrow with Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, then back home again for more much-needed rest. The alarm had still come much too early that morning, and Harry was feeling the effects of too much vacation.

"Thanks." he said to the lift operator, stifling another yawn and shuffling out onto the sea-green carpet that covered most of the sixth level. Most desks were as yet empty after the long holiday, and those that were occupied played host to some very bleary-eyed witches and wizards. Harry wove his way through the maze of cubicles and offices and hallways, towards the large Apparition classroom that the Auror office was using as a lecture hall for its' new trainees, having run out of room on the second level.

"Hi Harry."

He looked up, into a small cubicle where Katie Bell was standing behind a desk and stirring a generous amount of sugar into a chipped teacup. "Oh, hi, Katie."

"Would you like some tea?"

"I would, but.…" He gestured vaguely to the hallway in front of him.

"I understand. She's already been by."

"Oi."

Katie smiled. "Come by later, maybe we can take lunch together."

"Okay." Trying to ignore the invigorating small of her Earl Grey, he continued on, further into the dense layout of the sixth level.

The "she" in question was Faustina Preston, his Auror training instructor. The best way Harry could describe her was a "harsh taskmistress." The worst way… well, the only time he ever called her that, he had been talking to Ron. Mrs. Weasley had come up behind them, unbeknownst to him, and he had described her using this particular colourful term. She had screamed and clapped her hands over her ears and nearly fallen over. Harry had been so embarrassed, he'd blushed nearly purple.

Auror Preston, he had learned, had graduated from Hogwarts the year before Bill. She was a petite, shapely witch who favoured close-cut Muggle clothes under her scarlet Ministry robes. Her dark red hair was cut stylishly short, and she wore thick-framed glasses low on her nose. When Kingsley had introduced her to the small group of Auror trainees, Harry had been gobsmacked. Nothing about her looked particularly foreboding or powerful, with the exception of her stern expression. Then he had begun to train with her.

He entered the classroom, bracing himself. However, it was empty. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at his desk, pulling his books and papers out from beneath the chair. They were covered with a thin film of dust after over a week of neglect.

The window next to him showed overcast, steely grey clouds, belying the bright morning sunshine of the actual sky outside. It had taken him time to get used to the charmed windows, just as it had taken him time to acclimatize to the compact, pretty Auror trainer throwing books and cursing out the trainees. On one memorable occasion, she had stunned Andrew Kirke, tackled him to the floor, and driven her knee into the small of his back, demonstrating a particularly hands-on way of taking someone into custody. The following day, he had been absent from class due to being in St. Mungo's for observation after an alarming episode of hematuria.

"Potter."

He looked up, startled. Preston stood in the doorway. To his surprise, she wore a thick black travelling cloak over what looked like dark blue ski pants, a significant departure from her typical mode of dress.

"Auror Preston. How, uh, how were your holidays?"

"What? Oh, fine. Yours?"

"Uh… good, thanks."

"Do you have your wand?"

"I do." he said, pulling it out of his pocket and laying it on the desk.

"Well, get it and come along. You're with me today." He started to gather up his notebook and text, but she shook her head. "You don't need that. Come on."

Mystified, he swept his wand into his hand and got to his feet. Once she was satisfied that he was following, she turned and led him back down the hall. More Ministry employees were present now, none looking particularly thrilled, and more were arriving every minute. Up ahead, a tall wizard with a long ponytail turned the corner, whistling. He abruptly stopped as he caught site of Preston.

"Oh, Williamson, they've sent you to take over training today?" she asked, slowing to a stop.

"Aye." he replied cautiously. Harry noticed with amusement that his eyes never quite reached her face.

"Well, I've left you a comprehensive outline of what I need accomplished today. Don't go easy on them; they've just had a week to sit around and do nothing. If you have extra time, drill them on suspect's rights-- no, better yet, have them practice takedowns without wands. Keep on eye on Patil, she's far too reliant on _incarcerous_."

"Will do."

"Oh, and Williamson? Make sure you keep them away from Kirke's lower back. He can't afford to miss any more time."

"I'll keep 'em from getting too radgie. Where you off to?"

She pointedly ignored the question, motioning for Harry to follow again and stepping swiftly around the tall Auror. "Well, thanks, Williamson. Drop me a note if you have any trouble with today's lesson."

Harry edged past him as well, following the billowing of Auror Preston's cloak around the corner and into the maze of desks and cubicles that made up the bulk of the Magical Transportation department. They passed an open door off the corridor, marked "Portkey Office." Inside, Katie Bell was in conversation with a brunette witch.

"--Alicia was upset, and he.…" she trailed off as they passed, cocking a quizzical eyebrow at Harry. He shrugged minutely, and then the door was behind him. In front of him, Preston was striding through the crowded hall. Wizards and witches, many older or more superior, were stopping in their tracks to let her pass.

"No, no, after you, Auror Preston." a fussy-looking, middle-aged blonde witch in saffron robes said, taking a large step behind a potted plant and gesturing for them to go ahead as Auror Preston paused to let her pass.

"Thank you, Madam Edgecombe." she said graciously. Harry studied the witch as they moved by her, wondering if, perhaps, she was a relation of Marietta's.

At long last, they reached the lift. As they waited in silence for the doors to open, a flock of interdepartmental memos gathered above their heads, rustling dryly. Finally, the brass doors slid open. Harry's stomach dropped a few inches-- standing just behind the lift operator was none other than Lucius Malfoy.

He moved back as Preston and Harry stepped into the lift. "Level two, please." The operator pulled a short lever, and the doors closed silently. After a long moment, she looked over her shoulder. "What brings you to the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked coolly.

There was a short, awkward pause. "I'm visiting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Preston."

"Oh? What a coincidence, we're heading down there as well. What sort of business brings you to see us at the holidays?"

He looked visibly uncomfortable. "I'll be meeting with Auror Dawlish."

Preston's eyes widened just slightly, but her expression remained carefully neutral. "I see."

The rest of the ride passed in heavy silence. When the doors opened, her hand pressed gently against Harry's forearm, stopping him from moving forward. "After you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Auror Preston, but I must insist-- beauty before age."

The spurious smile that broke her austere expression was almost a grimace. "You are most kind, Lucius, but I have to get Potter used to the fact that our main concern is the safety and comfort of our valued wizarding population. I won't take no for an answer-- please, go first."

Lucius Malfoy swept out of the lift in a swell of deep green cloak. "Thank you, Faustina, and please be sure to give my regards to your father." With that, he hurried up the long corridor that stretched in front of the lift, quickly putting a significant distance between himself and them.

After a moment, Preston stepped out as well. "Come on, Harry."

They started down the corridor as well. Now that the entertainment of watching Lucius Malfoy all but squirming under the keen eye of Auror Preston was gone, he was back to being confused. "Auror Preston, if you don't mind me asking-- what are we doing?"

"I'll explain it to you in a minute, Potter. Kindly keep up." she said, glancing back. He quickened his pace.

"Do you suspect Mr. Malfoy of something?" he asked quickly, unable to stop himself.

She turned abruptly, leading him into a quiet office. The door swung shut behind them. He steeled himself for the tirade he had surely sparked. However, much to his astonishment, she just sat down in the chair behind the desk.

"Ask me that again in a few hours." she said, opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a plain manila folder. "Take a seat, Potter."

He sat down in a chair which faced the desk, which bore a nameplate reading, simply, _F. Preston_, _Auror_. Intrigued, he looked around as she opened the folder and began to read. The small bookshelf behind her was stuffed with books-- atlases of wizarding Britain, old Hogwarts textbooks, many books on the subject Dark Arts, reference books of runes and spells, a collection of old, decrepit volumes with names like _Magick Most Evile _and _Blackest Incantations_, and a good many Muggle paperbacks. The top of the plain grey file cabinet next to the window was crowded with potted plants. The desk had orderly stacks of papers and folders lined up across the surface, as well as a handsome leather desk set and small Muggle desk clock. A handful of photographs in silver frames were arranged on the windowsill near him. He tried to study these without her noticing.

The first showed a much younger Preston, smiling genuinely, and picking wildflowers in a field with an older, grey-haired man. They waved out from beneath the glass, and then the man presented her with a bouquet of flowers. The next photo was a standard, unmoving Muggle one, showing the same man with a middle-aged brunette woman, both smiling at the camera. The last, also a Muggle snapshot, showed the Preston that he knew, standing on some sort of rocky outcropping in front of a magnificent blue-green sea, her arms around a handsome dark-haired bloke. Something about these pictures made Harry uncomfortable, and he hastily looked back up. His face began to pink when he realized that she was no longer reading the folder, but watching him.

Before he could stammer out an apology, though, she spoke. "That's me and my dad." she said, pointing to the one that moved. "The original Auror Preston."

"Oh, is he an Auror?"

"He was. He retired, though, right after Voldemort disappeared. See, that's him and my mum." Now she gestured to the photo of the man and the woman. "She's a Muggle, you know."

"I didn't know, no."

"Yeah. I'm a filthy half-blood." She smiled, but it held no mirth. "Just after Voldemort's first rise to power, a group of Death Eaters kidnapped her." Harry's heart skipped a beat-- he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to hear all this. "They baited my dad, pretty much. He left me with the old couple next door-- we lived in a Muggle neighbourhood at the time-- and ran off into the night to rescue her. Well, it didn't go exactly as planned."

"They killed her?" Harry asked carefully, when she failed to continue after a long silence.

"No, he managed to find her, intact. He went blind, though-- something they did to him that night made him lose his sight. He hardly ever talks about it; I'm not exactly sure what happened. He really had no choice but to retire after that.

"The Ministry took good care of him, don't get me wrong. Pension, Order of Merlin, the whole bit. He and Mum live on the coast of Scotland now, near a little wizarding town. He likes it, but he had to give up doing what he loved. He's why I became an Auror." She paused before carrying on. "That last picture is of my fiancé Henry and I."

"Oh, I didn't know you were engaged." he said, automatically scanning her hand for an engagement ring. There was none.

"I'm not. Death Eaters killed him and a group of Muggles while they were in Wales, working on a bridge in the mountains. I was on assignment in Turkey at the time."

Harry's gut twisted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry." he said. "I had no idea."

"How would you, Potter? Anyway, that's why I got my reputation. Sadist, bitch, miserable cow… I've heard it all, and worse." Harry's ears burned as he recalled the choice words he had used in conjunction with her name. "It's because I know what they're capable of, how they can hurt you. Not just here--" she made a vague slashing motion above her wrist, indicating physical wounds-- "but here" --she tapped her temple--"and here"-- she rested her hand over her heart. "Kingsley knows. That's why he asked me to take over Auror training. And that's why I said yes."

Preston and Harry looked at each other for a long moment. "Well, that brings up to why you're here." she said, all business again, sliding the folder across the desktop towards him. "A group of Aurors are going out to Dartmoor this morning to investigate suspected Dark activity. We will be going along."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're doing well, Potter. I'm pleased with your work." With that, she stood up. "Read that, I'll be back shortly."

She left him in the quiet office. Feeling a bizarre mixture of pride, apprehension, and excitement, he pulled the folder closer, opened it, and began to read.

_Suspected Dark/Death Eater activity has been reported in the vicinity of Dartmoor_, the page on top read. _Eyewitnesses report strange apparitions in the sky over an abandoned watermill, as well as at least one instance of missing livestock. Informant information indicates that at least one known Death Eater have been recruiting in the area. Ministry intelligence has corroborated, visualizing both suspects at the mill and in the village, together and separately. At least three unknown individuals have also been seen. All are expected to be armed with wands and dangerous._

Also included in the folder was a map of the area, a crudely-drawn schematic of the interior of the mill, and a short list of things that they were looking for. Harry noticed that a bulk of the objects were Dark artifacts listed as missing from Borgin & Burkes.

He knew from his training that just after Voldemort's fall, the shop had been raided by Ministry officials. Sales records had been confiscated and combed over carefully, and a sizeable list of missing or stolen Dark items had been created. As Preston had explained, one of the Ministry's goals was to locate the remaining objects and tag them, "so as they don't fall into the wrong hands."

The small desk clock chimed quietly. It was exactly half-past nine. Ginny was on her way to King's Cross, he imagined. The Hogwarts' Express would be leaving at eleven. He wished he could be there to see her off, but she had talked him out of it.

"It won't be at all interesting." she'd said. "What would you want to come see that for?"

He'd shrugged. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, but that doesn't mean you should skive off work just to come hang around King's Cross. We'll see each other soon enough."

As he paged through the folder again, he was aware of movement in the corridor. Through the window in the door, he saw Lucius Malfoy, who was marching back towards the lift. A few moments later, Preston appeared outside the office. She motioned for him.

He tucked the folder under his arm and joined her in the hallway. "Dawlish is going to brief us now." she explained, leading him a bit further down the hall and turning into a large anteroom. Two doors led off of this, one open, one closed. He followed her through the open door, into some sort of meeting room. Four other Aurors in Muggle clothes were sitting at a long table, and Dawlish was standing at the front of the room, wearing a old-fashioned pinstriped suit beneath his heavy grey cloak. He nodded to Preston and Harry as they entered, and shut the door behind them as they both took a seat.

"All right." Dawlish said briskly, looking around the room. "You've all received the paperwork, I assume?"

"We have." said a robust-looking wizard with close-cut dark hair and a hooded Sex Pistols sweatshirt. "Who is this Ministry informant?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Greenly. Suffice it to say that our informant passed a significant amount of information to us at significant personal risk." The words reminded Harry of Dumbledore talking about Snape.

"Well, how did he _get_ this information? Being a Death Eater sympathizer isn't exactly something you broadcast today. The type that do, well, they usually turn out to not be much of a threat at all." Harry looked at Savage, surprised at the way he questioned his superior.

Dawlish, however, was unruffled. "You're right." he said simply. "But I'd risk betraying his-- or her-- identity if I comment further. The information that we've received has been deemed more than credible, and has been supported by Ministry intelligence. Therefore, we act.

"Now, we'll be travelling into Dartmoor in three groups." He pointed his wand at the blank blackboard behind him. Immediately, an aerial view of the village appeared. "Proudfoot and I will be Apparating into the centre of the village. Preston, Duffy and Potter will be Apparating just beyond. Derrick and Greenly, you'll be arriving via Portkey outside the village limits, and will approach from the north. We'll rendezvous here, and enter here."

"What are we expecting to meet?" a generously proportioned wizard in an ill-fitted striped cardigan asked.

"Reports indicate that there is minimal activity in the mill during the day, Duffy. We're expecting to find things, not people."

"And if there are any, er, suspects inside? Are they Death Eaters?"

Dawlish looked thoughtful. "The initial contact was made by a known Death Eater. However, with the fall of You-Kn-- I mean, Voldemort, I believe that the term 'Death Eater' may be obsolete."

"I thought all the Death Eaters were dead or in Azkaban?" The words had left Harry's mouth before he could stop himself. Six pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Well, Potter, we thought so too." Dawlish said, not unkindly. "Until our informant was contacted by Evan Rosier."

There was an outbreak of disbelief from the other Aurors in the room. "Rosier?!" Greenly barked. "But he's--"

"Dead." Preston said quietly. "So we've thought."

"But… how is he still alive?" the large man in the cardigan, Duffy, asked. "I thought Mad-Eye killed him in that raid?"

Dawlish and Preston exchanged looks. "We're not entirely sure." she finally responded. "But I personally suspect he injected himself with some form of Draught of Living Death during the fracas."

"Are there any other questions?" Dawlish said, now looking slightly harried. "We're on a relatively tight timetable." There were murmurs of "no" from around the room. "Good, then. We'll be under the Disillusionment charm, obviously, to prevent us from being seen by Muggles. Let's head out."

Harry got to his feet with the rest of the Aurors. Preston turned to him, adjusting her cloak over her shoulders. "Nervous, Potter?"

"A bit." he said honestly.

"It's all right to be nervous. Keeps you alert. Do you have any questions?"

"Well, yeah. How are we going to Disapparate from the here?"

"There's a secure room on this floor that we can Apparate to and from. If you get into trouble, just turn on the spot and think of the Ministry safe room. Come on."

He fell into step behind her and the other Aurors. They moved together down the hall, away from Preston's office and the lifts, deeper into the Magical Law Enforcement division. There was an eager fluttering in his stomach now, and, despite his slight apprehension, Harry was excited to go out on his first real assignment as a member of the new Ministry of Magic.

A slender witch with sleek brown hair was standing at the Spellograph machine, making copies. She turned as the group of Aurors passed, and Harry found himself looking at Hermione. She raised an eyebrow at him, a puzzled look on her face. He shot her a quick thumbs-up and continued down the hall.

"In here, Potter."

He followed Preston, Duffy, Proudfoot and Dawlish into a dingy tiled room that looked very much like a locker room. Derrick and Greenly continued down the hall to catch their Portkey. Preston caught his slightly taken aback look as he took in the musty-smelling room.

"It looks like this in case a hostile grabs on to you as you Disapparate. They won't immediately know that they're in the Ministry. If that ever happen, send up red sparks with your wand. That'll alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who can come help you out." she explained.

Dawlish cast a Disllusionment charm over himself and moved into the corner of the room, rapidly becoming transparent. Proudfoot followed suit.

"Wands out." Dawlish instructed, and Harry tightened his grip on his. "We'll see you shortly."

They disappeared with a _pop_ that echoed off the scuffed green tiles. Preston waved her wand over her head, as did Duffy. Harry did the same, feeling the well-known sensation of being doused in water as he began to disappear from view.

"Potter, have you ever been to Dartmoor?" the phantom form of Preston asked. He knew it was the best he'd be able to see her until the charm was broken.

"I don't think so."

"Well, come on then. Grab hold of my arm."

He awkwardly took hold of her elbow. Duffy flanked his other side. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

They turned on the spot and Harry felt the familiar squeezing, stuffing feeling. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, they rapidly filled with moist, frigid air. They were standing now on frost-covered grass at the edge of a large, frozen moorland, a heavy grey sky above them. It was a desolate sort of beauty, and something about the scene made his heart feel lonely. Quickly, he shook it off, and turned to Preston and Duffy.

A tiny hamlet lay behind them, barely a few blocks wide. They stood near a muddy lane, large puddles of ice pock-marking it's surface. Following the road with his eyes, he could see their target; a large, crumbling stone building at the other edge of the village. Not far beyond, the street dipped down a small hill and disappeared into dark coppice of trees. Harry felt very solitary, and very exposed, despite the Disillusionment charm that hid from the eyes of everyone except the other Aurors.

"Come on, Harry." Duffy said, motioning with his wand hand. His voice sounded very loud in the stillness.

They started down the road, heading for the old mill. Preston stepped carefully around puddles and scanned the area continually with her sharp brown eyes, short rowan wand held high in front of her. Duffy was more at ease, keeping to the grassy shoulder of the path and holding his wand at his side. Harry trotted along after them, rolling his wand between his fingers.

It did not take them long to move through the seemingly deserted town and reach the mill. Just beyond it was a stagnant canal and a rusted, weed-choked set of train tracks that looked as though they had last seen action a good fifty years prior. A dense forest, thick with undergrowth, seemed ready to swallow the town, if it had not been for the boundary of the canal.

As they waited for the others, Harry studied the foreboding façade of the broken-down stone mill. Above a small pond of green water, congested with a film of algae and large chunks of yellowish ice, the old moss-covered waterwheel was missing more paddles than it had, and the tile roof was filled with gaping holes. Most of the windows were boarded over, and those that weren't had all of their panes smashed. A rusted gutter hung at an extreme angle over the road. Ominous-looking cracks snaked their way through the stone walls, and the entire building looked like it could fall apart with a strong gust of wind.

Two ghostly figures turned the corner, and Duffy raised his hand in greeting.

"Anything out of the ordinary?" Dawlish asked, almost inaudibly, as he and Proudfoot came to a stop in front of the mill.

"It's quiet." Preston said. "Almost too quiet. What about you?"

"More of the same." Proudfoot replied. "Not so much as a cat in a window."

They both looked expectantly at Dawlish, who seemed undaunted. "As the reports indicated, not much activity during the day. I prefer this to the alternative, quite honestly."

A few minutes passed in near silence, only broken by the plaintive creaking of the loose gutter pipes, which groaned and rasped with every stirring of the wind. Harry watched Proudfoot check his watch and then cast an anxious glance towards the dark woods across the overgrown railroad tracks.

"Do you think something's happened with their Portkey?" Duffy asked after another minute.

"It was supposed to leave two minutes after we did. Let's give them another minute, and then we'll go check to see if the Portkey arrived."

A few seconds later, Harry saw movement in the woods, and then Preston pointed. "There they are."

Greenly and Derrick, looking spectral and insubstantial under the Disillusionment charm, came hurrying up the road and across the train tracks and footbridge. "Sorry about that." Greenly said as they joined the group. "Derrick thought she saw someone back there, and we had to check it out."

"Who was it?" Dawlish asked, looking suddenly interested.

"Hard to say if it was even anyone." said Greenly. "We looked all around, didn't see a thing. No footprints or anything, either."

"They most likely wouldn't leave any if the ground is frozen." Preston said. "And even if they had, they could have obscured them by magic."

"Not that quickly, they couldn't have." Greenly replied. "As soon as we touched down, she thought she saw 'em, and we checked it out immediately."

"What did you see, Derrick?"

She tossed her long blonde plait back over her shoulder. "I didn't actually see anyone, but it did look like a dark cloak moving in the trees. The Portkey brought us into a small clearing, and I just saw it out of the corner of my eye. Like Greenly said, we went to investigate, but there was nothing. I imagine it was just a badger or something. Have you seen anyone?"

"Not a soul." Proudfoot replied.

"All right." Dawlish said, before the statement could linger. "Shall we go in?" It was a statement, not a question, and he led them all to the heavy metal door. The handle was wrapped with a length of thick, rusty chain and held shut with a large padlock which had corroded to a powdery orange in the elements.

"_Alohomora." _Dawlish pointed his wand at the padlock, which fell to the ground with a dull thud and a puff of oxidized dust. The door swung inward with a long groan. Dawlish disappeared into the darkness beyond, followed by Duffy. Preston beckoned for Harry to follow her, and he shuffled between her and Derrick. They moved forward slowly, and Harry could hear Greenly at the end of the queue, securing the door.

"_Lumos_." Duffy held his wand high in the air, using the a small, bright light at the tip to cut into the gloom. They were in a long, dark passageway, the damp stone walls covered in years of graffiti and the floor strewn with garbage. At the end of the hall, a splintered wooden door hung crazily on it's hinges. There was an old, cracked timeclock hanging on the wall next to it, and a rack of mouldering cards.

"Careful." Dawlish warned, stepping carefully through the doorway and taking care not to touch the busted door. His footsteps crunched. "There's a lot of broken glass up here, and it looks like the boards are starting to rot out in places."

They passed quickly through what must have been a small office at one time. It stank so heavily of cat urine that Harry's eyes watered and he could barely breathe. The next room was a large, high-ceilinged space. There was slightly more light here, thanks to the handful of shattered windows at the top of each wall. Broken factory equipment littered the vast space, most of it covered with a heavy mantle of dust or rust. There were broken beer bottles by the dozen, and piles of trash everywhere. In the far corner were gargantuan spools of ancient-looking wire.

"Candles." Derrick said, pointing to a circle of stubby candles on the floor. She broke from the group to inspect them further.

"Could just be kids." Proudfoot suggested. "There's an awful lot of graffiti in here."

"I'm not sure." she said, breaking off a drip of wax and rubbing it between her fingers. "They don't feel like the typical Muggle, mass-merchandised candles. You can actually feel the tallow."

"We're in the middle of the country." Greenly replied as Derrick got to her feet. "It makes perfect sense that people around here could still be making their own candles."

"True." Derrick said but she didn't sound convinced.

The small group of Aurors spread out slowly, each scanning the large room carefully. Harry kept a generous few paces behind Preston as she headed for the far corner, which was barely visible in the meager light. His eyes were trained on the ground, searching for anything besides beer bottles and pop cans and old newspapers. A dull glitter caught his eye from amongst a heap of oily-smelling rags that lay at the foot of what looked like an enormous iron printing press, draped in cobwebs.

"Here." he said, wincing at how loud his voice sounded, and he swept the rags away from what seemed to be a broken dagger with an ornately carved handle. "Look at this."

In an instant, Preston was at his side. He went to reach for it, but her firm hand on his shoulder reigned him back. "Don't touch it with your bare hand, Potter." Remembering the necklace that almost killed Katie Bell in his sixth year, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried again. This time, he knelt and warily lifted it, taking care not to touch any of it with his exposed skin.

Derrick and Proudfoot stood with Preston as he straightened up and displayed it. Up close, he was almost certain that the knife was some sort of Dark article-- it closely resembled, in shape and size, the one that Harry had seen in the cemetery at Little Hangleton, the one Peter Pettigrew had used to spill his blood and then to cut off his own hand. The handle looked dark and brittle, and something about it's irregular surface reminded Harry of bone. Some of the carvings looked like runes.

"Nice find, Harry. May I?" Derrick asked. Harry cautiously transferred the knife to her, and she flipped it over. After studying it closely for a minute, she looked up and smiled at Harry. "I'm almost positive that we'll find this on the list of missing objects from Borgin and Burkes. Good work."

Proudfoot took a small pouch from his pocket and held it open so Derrick could drop the knife in. He fastened the drawstring and then handed it to Harry. "You can turn this into the Regulation of Magical Objects folks when we get back to the Ministry. They're handling the missing things from Borgin & Burkes. Well done."

"Thank you." Harry said, both pleased and embarrassed as he tucked the soft pouch inside the pocket of his jeans. Preston gave him a small smile as the group broke up. Derrick took a few steps away, but then stopped, sniffing the air deeply.

"Do you smell that?" she asked.

"Smell what?" Greenly called from across the floor. A scraping, skittering sound exploded at his voice, causing everyone to brandish their wands and look around for danger.

"Mice." Duffy said quietly, letting his hand fall by a few degrees. "Try to keep your voice down, Greenly, won't you."

Duffy, Dawlish and Greenly made their way carefully over to where Derrick was still standing with her nose in the air. The light from Duffy's wand cast spooky shadows over the darkest corner of the mill, and Harry could see a large, rectangular cavity in the wooden floor. Derrick slowly made her way towards this place, the quiet punctuated by her deep sniffing with every step.

"It's stronger over here." she said, coming to a stop again. The others approached, and Harry thought he could smell it-- a faint acrid smell like smoke or, more accurately, burnt matches. Sure enough, it did get noticeably stronger as he drew closer to Derrick.

"Brimstone?" Proudfoot asked.

Derrick turned to him, a bemused look on her face. "I think it might be." Harry saw her and Preston exchange grim looks. Duffy and Dawlish looked surprised, Greenly looked sceptical. Proudfoot's face remained impassive.

"_Brimstone? _Really?" Greenly asked. "Isn't that a little archaic?"

"It's very odd." Derrick agreed. "I think we should take a look downstairs. The smell seems to be coming from down there." She pointed to the chasm in the floor.

Dawlish nodded, but before he could speak, Greenly lit his own wand and used it to point across the mill. "I think we need to check _that _out."

In the light from Greenly's wand, Harry could see a narrow metal staircase on the far wall, leading to a small catwalk. A door and window were set into the wall there, leading to what presumably had been the foreman's office a long time ago.

"Greenly, you, Proudfoot and I will check out that office. Preston, you take Derrick, Duffy and Potter and take a look downstairs. We'll meet back up here in--" he checked his watch-- "ten minutes. If you find anything, pick it up, but for Godric's sake, don't touch it with your bare hands. If you run into anyone, send up sparks and we'll come down to assist. Otherwise, standard precautions. All right?"

"Yes sir." Preston said, raising her wand again. As Dawlish, Proudfoot and Greenly headed towards the metal staircase on the other side of the mill, she gave direction to her own small group. "Potter, you'll be right behind me. Light your wand, it'll be dark down there. Derrick, you'll go behind Potter, and Duffy, if you could bring up the rear?" He nodded. "Wands out. Let's go."

"_Lumos_." Harry said, holding his wand over Preston's head as they crept down the wide wooden stairs. The floor down here was made of stone, water pooled in narrow channels near the walls. A passageway extended from the foot of the stairs to a closed door at the top of the hall, some hundred yards away. The hall was stuffed with cardboard boxes and large canvas sacks, all in various stages of disintegration. There were smaller spools of rusted wire stacked in piles at the foot of the stairs. Preston's cloak snagged on the nearest spool, and she stopped to release it. A steady dripping sound filled the damp space.

"The smell is stronger down here." Derrick said unnecessarily. "It must have been burned recently, or else it would have faded. The air is awfully humid in here."

"Do you still think it's brimstone?" Duffy asked. From upstairs, they could hear far-away clanging as the other Aurors climbed the metal staircase, heading towards the office.

"It certainly smells like it." Preston said, weaving her way around the decaying boxes and bags. The low ceiling in combination with the excess of junk gave the hallway a rather claustrophobic atmosphere. Harry held his wand high, throwing everything into stark relief. He was glad to not be down here alone.

After a minute or so, Duffy reached out to touch the slick stone walls. "We must be getting close to the main mechanism. I think we're under the mill pond now."

Preston came to a stop in front of the door, which was tightly closed. Gingerly, she reached a hand out to push on it. Nothing happened; it did not so much as rattle on it's hinges. She put more weight on it, but it still did not budge.

"_Alohomora_." she said, pointing her wand at the knob and then trying again to push open the door. Again, nothing.

"That's strange." Duffy said.

"Indeed. If it was just a Muggle lock, that would have worked, even if the thing has been rusted shut for the last forty years." She studied the door thoughtfully. "Back up, Potter."

"What?"

"Back up." she repeated.

Harry shuffled back a few steps, curious as to what sort of spell she had in mind. His eyes widened as she backed up and then ran at the door, sending it flying open with one well-placed kick. The sound of the lock breaking and the door slamming open was almost deafening in the enclosed space.

"Wand, Potter." she said simply, motioning for him to bring his light over.

"Er, nice move, Auror Preston." he said, stepping behind her and holding the wand over her shoulder.

"Thank you." she replied as the space in front of her was illuminated. The square room was mostly occupied by a massive iron assembly, all axles and cogs and two colossal wheels fitted together. These were littered with candles and piles of rags and what looked like ash.

Derrick edged around Harry and Preston and touched the tip of her finger to the ash, looking dour. Before she could speak, though, Duffy pointed to one of the rag piles. "What is that?" he asked, indicating a dark stain beneath it. "Is that…?"

"Blood." Derrick said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It looks like blood."

Harry shuddered unconsciously. Preston was inching forward, wand out, ready to probe the soiled material for the source of the blood, when a loud yell, distorted and strange, sounded from above. There was a bang and a crash and what sounded like running footsteps.

Immediately, Preston, Derrick, Harry and Duffy were running back down the hallway towards the staircase. Duffy tripped over a cardboard box, which seemed to explode, sending a wave of rusted screws over the floor. Harry stopped to help him regain his footing as Derrick and Preston charged up the stairs.

_"Stupefy! STUPEFY!" _someone-- it sounded like Greenly-- bellowed from the main floor. A series of loud bangs followed, and Harry could see smudges of red light glowing on the stairs. He jogged upstairs behind Duffy to join the other Aurors, heart pounding in his chest.

Greenly was running through the large room, shooting spells at a cloaked figure who was running for the hallway leading to the front door. Dawlish was half-supporting, half-dragging an unconscious Proudfoot across the floor. Derrick rushed over to help while Preston barrelled after Greenly.

"Duffy, Potter, come on!" she cried. Harry followed her into the hall, moving steadily toward the rectangle of dull light ahead of him. Greenly was still shooting off spells, and lights flashed like fireworks ahead of them. Preston's cloak billowed and flapped in front of his eyes as she ran, and he could hear Duffy's heavy footsteps just behind him.

Harry blinked as they emerged from the mill, eyes adjusting to the light. An icy rain was falling now, and he swiped at his glasses. Without warning, the cloaked figure shot a wordless spell towards them. "Potter, get down!" Preston yelled. The harsh purple light caught her, causing her to fall forward with a thud. He narrowly avoided running over her, and as he stopped to help, he heard Duffy shouting to him.

"She's all right! Go on, help Greenly!"

He looked up just in time to see the hooded figure just at the boundary of the woods, facing off against Greenly, who stood on the footbridge, wand drawn. Silently, the cloaked person made a complex motion with his wand. Instinctively, Harry leapt for Greenly, landing on him as a wall of flame burst in front of them, rapidly engulfing the place where Greenly just stood.

Together, they fell from the bridge in what felt like slow motion, finally hitting the glacial, tea-coloured water. Every cell in Harry's body seemed to scream as they sunk like stones, then the world went black.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, so, Harry meets _Silent Hill _meets _Law and Order_. I actually didn't intend to write all of this, but it sort of snowballed. Harry will be making some important choices in upcoming chapters, and his first taste of Aurorhood will reinforce the ideas that Andromeda Tonks put in his head in Chapter 5, and the idea that the world is not split into "good people and Death Eaters." And I took some liberties with the Disillusionment charm, I think. Sorry, JKR.

I've been into _The Boondock Saints_ recently, which is why I named two of the Aurors Greenly and Duffy. I was thinking of calling Preston "Smecker", but figured that would be pushing it.

_Vele dank _to those _fijne mensen _who reviewed my last chapter: mommato2beauties, cinroc, Heart of the Phoenix, Hyperlily and Soldier24601. The "Banded Bulbous Snarfblat"was a _Little Mermaid _reference, you guys totally got it.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hi Ginny!"

Ginny took a bite of toast and stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, hi Ritchie." she said as he slid onto the bench across from her, smiling eagerly.

"How was your New Years'?"

"Fine." she replied, slowly turning a page in her Transfiguration text and hoping he'd get the hint. He did not.

"Oh yeah? What'd you do?"

"We had some people over to my brothers' flat. It was nice."

"That's really cool. Who was there?"

"Uh, mostly people from Harry's year."

"Oh, yeah, wicked! Do you want to know what I did?"

_Not really_, she thought to herself, but forced herself to smile and nod. "Sure."

"I went with some friends to see the fireworks in London. Ya know, the Muggle ones. Then we went to a pub." He squared his shoulders significantly. "They served me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was cool. So how did you do on that Charms project?"

"Oh, uh, I did okay, I guess."

"I'm sure you did fine. Your marks in that class are always good. Old Flitwick must think your brothers' knack for charms rubbed off on you, eh?"

The knowing tone of voice coupled with the little wink he gave her was simply too much. Ginny slammed her book shut with a loud bang, drawing curious looks from other Gryffindors. "Actually, I wouldn't know if he thinks that. I would have thought my hard work and studying was enough, but thanks for calling all of that into question. I really appreciate it." She got to her feet and began to gather up her things when he leapt to his feet as well, a rather wild look on his face.

"Ginny, no, wait! I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean it like that, please. What I mean, is, Fred and George were legendary here-- that swamp stunt was ace, really ace-- and Flitwick, you know how he-- well, what I mean is, I'm sorry!"

He looked so pathetic and sounded so panicked that she stopped packing up, biting back a smile. "It's all right." She sat back down.

At that moment, the Great Hall was suddenly filled with owls, dropping packages of forgotten books and orphan mittens into their owners' laps. Ginny was surprised when a small black owl dropped a plain white envelope onto the table in front of her. Interest piqued, she picked it up, intending to rip it open, when a familiar voice interrupted.

"Hello Ginny. Hello Rodger."

Luna Lovegood was walking towards them, untied shoelaces clicking on the floor. Ginny moved her bag so that her friend could sit down next to her.

"My name's Ritchie." Ritchie said, looking vaguely disconcerted.

"Beg your pardon." Luna replied with a dreamy smile, then turned her large eyes to Ginny. "I never got to say thank you for inviting me over on New Year's Eve. I had a lovely time."

"Oh, my pleasure. Glad you could make it."

"Did your brother mind terribly that I fell asleep on the sofa while they were playing cards?"

"Nah, I don't think so. Most everyone was three sheets to the wind at that point anyway."

"Do you think so? Neville said the same thing. But George was awfully angry when he came home. I thought that I had offended him."

"George? No, he was upset about something that happened at Lee Jordan' house, something about Alicia Spinnet. I don't think he minded that you were asleep."

"That's good. I was thinking of sending George and Ronald a gift. I have a really interesting photograph of a sabre-toothed moose lion that one of Daddy's associates took in China. You can almost see it's whole backside. Do you think they'd like it?"

Ginny tried to imagine what George and Ron's response to a photo of the ass-end of an invented animal would be. "You know, Luna, that's very thoughtful, but you'd better hold on to that."

"Well, all right, if you think that would be best. Say, would you like to walk to Transfiguartion with me? I don't want to be late. You can come too, Richard, if you'd like."

"Ritchie." he said feebly, getting to his feet and following the girls out of the hall and into the corridor. They paused to let a line of Hufflepuff first-years pass, then continued towards the main stairs.

"What have you got there?" Luna asked, nodding towards the envelope in Ginny's hand.

"Oh, I almost forgot." she said, ripping it open and shaking out a piece of parchment. Luna and Ritchie waited with her as she stopped to read. After a moment, she looked up, tucking the paper into her robes. "It's from Harry. He says he has to talk to me about something important. He wants to see me this weekend."

"Are you going to go home to visit him?"

"I can't, there's Quidditch practice both days."

"I'm sure Professor McGongall will let him come visit you. What do you think it could be?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? I just saw him on Sunday night. It's barely Tuesday. Ritchie, do-- wait, where'd he go?"

Both girls looked around. Ritchie was nowhere in sight in the crowded hallway.

"He's an odd young man." Luna said serenely. "And I think he fancies you."

"I really hope you're wrong about that."

XxX

Saturday morning was bright and cold, and the Quidditch pitch sparkled with frost under the pale blue sky. Ginny surveyed it with relish. Behind her, the rest of the team was not so impressed, but she was pleased that they kept their grumbling amongst themselves.

"Okay!" She clapped her hands together, the sound muffled somewhat by her thick gloves. "Let's all get into the air and take two laps."

The team kicked off without complaint and headed into the air. She watched as they made a rather lazy circuit around the perimeter. One of the new Chasers, a brawny blond 5th year named Balfour Perkins, was cruising languorously a good two or three yeards below the rest of the team, well out of the slipstream.

"Perkins!" she called. "You're supposed to be a Chaser! My aunt Muriel can move faster than that against the wind, and she's a hundred and eight! How about you do some speed drills? I'll time you!"

"How about I just catch up with Silsbury?" he called back, gesturing to the quiet 4th year who was zipping along at the head of the pack.

"That'd be a good start."

Ritchie was the first to finish his second lap, and touched down next to Ginny, who was kneeling on the ground and unstrapping the Quaffle from the box. "Need some help?"

"No, I've got it." she said, shutting the lid and standing up.

"Oh, I thought you were getting the Bludgers." he said, stretching expansively. "Gotta be careful with them."

"Yeah." she echoed hollowly. "Hey, why don't you and Peakes and Demelza work with the two new chasers? Hit some Bludgers at 'em or something. I'm going to take Clover over to the goals and… coach her a little bit."

Before waiting for him to respond, she eased her broom into the air and motioned for the keeper. "Clover! Over here!"

Ginny had first met Clover Boulstridge at Quidditch tryouts early in the school year, but she had seen her around Hogwarts many times before. Clover, a fourth year, towered over the rest of the team, with the exception of Ritchie. She had the perfect combination of grace and raw power, but Ginny noticed that she seemed to hold back at key moments-- such as when the other team was close by.

"Yeah?" Clover asked as they came to a stop in front of the goals.

"Clover, you're really awesome, d'you know that?"

"Thanks." she said, smiling shyly. Her freckled face turned pink to the roots of her curly dark hair.

"But you seem to have a problem when people are playing close to the goals. All the long -range ones, you block no problem. But when the other team gets close, that's when you have some problems."

"Oh." Pink turned to scarlet, until her face almost matched her robes.

"It's all right, we can work on that."

She worked with Clover for the better part of an hour, getting her used to swerving and diving and climbing while someone else was in close proximity. At the other end of the pitch, Ritchie and Peakes had taken to hitting Bludgers as hard as they could at the new Chasers, while Demelza supervised.

Finally Ginny called them over, and lined them up. They all took turned taking close shots at the goals. Clover was able to block all of them but one.

"Great job, everyone!" Ginny said as they touched down onto the pitch. "Tomorrow, we'll work on plays for the next match."

Demelza and Ritchie helped her gather up the supplies, and then the team headed back for the locker room as the Ravenclaw team took to the air for practice.

"Nicely done."

To Ginny's utter astonishment, Harry stood at the mouth of the Gryffindor locker room, applauding.

"Hey, Harry!" Ritchie said, grabbing his hand and pumping it up and down. "Good to see you."

"Yeah, you too, Ritchie."

He exchanged greetings with the rest of the team as they made their way into the locker room, finally leaving Ginny alone with Harry.

"Hi!" she said, hugging him. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. And I knew you had practice today and tomorrow, and… well, I thought I'd come see you."

"Well, I'm glad to see you, but I have to admit, I'm surprised. How did you get in here, anyway?"

He shrugged. "I told Hagrid I was coming. He let me in. I had to stop by and say hi to McGonagall. She was surprised to see me too. How was practice?"

"Not bad. One of my new Chasers is mouthy though."

"That blond?"

"How'd you know?"

"He looks like the type. But I'm sure you'll keep him in line."

"I try. But enough about the team-- what brings you all the way here? What couldn't wait?"

Harry didn't answer for a long moment, and, for the first time, Ginny felt a seed of anxiety blossom in her belly. When he did speak, it was only to ask her if she wanted to step into the locker room, where it was warmer. She agreed.

Clover and Demelza were just finishing putting their Quidditch robes away. They both smiled and waved at Harry and Ginny as they exited the locker room, leaving them alone once more. The air was warm and damp and smelled like sweaty socks.

Ginny leaned against the broom cupboard and made a sweeping gesture with her hands as he settled down on one of the long benches. "What's on your mind?"

"When I got back to the Ministry on Tuesday, they had me go out to Dartmoor with a group of Aurors. They were investigating suspected Dark activity, and Auror Preston brought me along."

"Really? That's so cool. I thought you didn't like her?"

"She's still, uh, austere. But I respect her. Anyway, the Ministry had information that Evan Rosier--"

"_Rosier_? Isn't he _dead_?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, Malfoy told the Ministry that he was contacted--"

"Wait, _Malfoy_? _Malfoy_ is passing information the Ministry?"

"I'm not certain, no one could say for sure. But it's not Draco, I'm pretty sure it's Lucius Malfoy."

"That doesn't really make it more believable."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, the Ministry had this information about Dark stuff happening in this old mill. So Duffy, Preston and I Apparated onto this moor outside of town. We met up with Dawlish and Proudfoot outside the mill. Greenly and Derrick came out of the forest; she thought they saw someone in the trees where their Portkey touched down. So we went inside and found all this weird stuff--"

"Like?"

"Oh. Well, I found this knife that looked the one Peter Pettigrew had in the cemetery, and there were candles and brimstone and something that looked like blood. Then someone attacked Dawlish's group-- they hit Proudfoot with some sort of spell-- and we chased them outside."

"Who was it?! Was it Rosier?" she asked, almost impatiently.

"We didn't get to find out, they had a cloak on. Preston was hurt. But then the person cast some sort of the spell at Greenly, there were these huge flames. So I jumped at him, and we both fell into the canal. It was frozen, and I'm pretty sure we both passed out."

Ginny looked at him with wide eyes. "What happened?"

"Well," he said, smiling sheepishly, "when I woke up, we were all back at the Ministy. There was a Healer from St. Mungo's all over us. Apparently, right after they cast the spell, the Death Eater-- well, that's what I'm calling him-- Disapparated . Duffy got Greenly and I out of the canal, and by that time, Dawlish and Derrick had brought Proudfoot outside and Preston could stand. They brought us back to the Ministry, and checked us out."

"Is everyone all right?"

"Yeah. Preston broke her ankle, and Proudfoot was sort of groggy, but everyone's fine."

"Good, good." She hesitated for a moment, then continued. "Sounds you like had quite a day. I'm very impressed that you got to go out with the Aurors, but--"

"But why am I here? Why couldn't I just send you an owl?"

"Well… yeah."

He sighed deeply. "It got me thinking. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Mmmhmmm."

"And I wanted to tell you in person…." Suddenly, he couldn't meet her eyes, could only stare at the tile floor of the locker room. And she was frightened.

"What is it?" she asked softly, sitting down next to him.

"I think I'm doing things all wrong, Ginny." he said, finally looking up at her. "I want to move into Grimmauld Place."

She was surprised. "Oh, okay, well, it's going to need a lot of work--"

"And I want you to come with me."

Her mouth formed a perfect, round O of surprise. "W-what?" she stammered after a minute.

"I want you to come live with me."

"But I'm still in Hogwarts!"

He waved his hand. "I know. Afterward you graduate. We can get married in the fall--"

"Married? But--"

"I know Charlie and Elizabeth's wedding is in June, we can wait until the fall. Even if your parents don't want you living with me until after the wedding, that's okay--"

"But I'm not ready--"

"Sure, sure, I've already asked Ron and Hermione and George, they're going to help me get Grimmauld Place ready for us to live in, and I'm going to move right in, but that'll give us some time to plan the--"

"Harry! Listen!" she said angrily.

"Oh. What is it?" he said, focusing on her for what seemed to be the first time in five minutes.

"I'm not ready to move in with you, and I'm certainly not going to be ready to get married!"

"Well, that'd why I said in the fall--"

"Not in the fall either! I'm barely seventeen. I'm not ready yet."

It was Harry's turn to look stunned. "But don't you love me?"

"Of course I love you, Harry--"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm not saying that I don't want to live with you eventually, or even get married, but not right after I graduate. What if I want to work?"

He chuckled, which only made her angry. "But why would you want to do that? Being an Auror is a great job. You could just stay home."

"Oh, is that right?" she said, jumping to her feet. "Tell me, Harry, what in our history together leads you to believe that I'm a _staying home_ kind of girl? Was it running into the Department of Mysteries with you? Perhaps dueling Death Eaters with you? Or leading a revolt against Snape in your absence?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean." he sputtered. "I just meant that you didn't have to worry about getting a job, but you can if you want to--"

There was a part of Ginny that would have been perfectly happy with this arrangement. It would save her from having to guess what might suit her after Hogwarts. But then Harry continued--

"--and we don't have to have kids right away, maybe after a year or so--"

"_Kids_? In a year or two? Yeah, like when I'm twenty?"

He looked pained at the resentment in her voice. "What, what did I say? I don't know why it's making you angry that I love you. I want to marry you and have a family with you. Why don't you like that?"

"It's not that I don't like that." she said, bringing her voice down an octave or two. "Maybe I want that. The problem is, I'm not ready, Harry. I want the opportunity to take care of myself. I can't do that if I move right from The Burrow into Grimmauld Place with you."

They looked at each other for a long moment. _I can't believe that all of this is happening, right now, in a locker room that smells like dirty robes and sweat, _Ginny thought, in a detached sort of way.

"I don't want to wait." he said softly.

"But why not?"

"What if something else happens? We won't have any time together."

"Something else? You mean, like Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"But Harry, that isn't going to--"

"You don't know that. There will always be Dark wizards, Ginny. Who knows what they're planning?"

"I think you're overreacting."

"Maybe so, but I don't want to end up like Remus and Tonks. Or my parents. Please."

"Do you need me to make a decision right this second?"

"Yes." His voice was barely above a whisper.

It was with a heavy heart that she responded. "Then I'm sorry, Harry. My answer is going to have to be no."

The world did not implode, as she had almost hoped that it would. The fabric of space and time did not rip in two. They just stared at each other, before he got to his feet and gently kissed her cheek.

"Well, all right then. Good luck with everything." he said quietly, then turned and walked back out toward the Quidditch pitch.

She gently touched the place on her cheek where his lips had just brushed, watching the door he had just walked out. It swung shut on slow, silent hinges. It was then that her eyes began to fill with tears.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A short (especially after the last one!) yet important chapter. Never fear, Harry/Ginny shippers (like me!), in the end, I think all we be well. That said, don't forget that this is a four-story series, LOL.

So, I'm thinking of a couple of other stories to start working on, in addition to this series and the Makig A Stand story. They are: a chaptered story set in the not-too-distant future that focuses on Ron and his "first big case" as an Auror (action, like Chapter 10 of Winter); a short chaptered story about how Luna meets Rolf, following them through to their wedding (fluffy); a one-shot focusing on the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts (emotional, sort of like Fred's Funeral). Any suggestions as to which one to start first?

Okay, super gigundo bunches of thanks to you awesome people who reviewed my last chapter-- once again, the most I've ever received: LauraWalden, Spottedfeather, Gray Eyed Beauty, Amaherst, Deluxe Sugar Quills, WaffleNinja, cinroc, lostand24fan, and ececjh123. You truly are my American (or, ya know, international) idols.


	12. Chapter 12

She said _what?_"

Hermione's eyes were as large as dinner plates, and she felt sick to her stomach. She reached across the table and took Harry's hand in both of hers. Ron sat next to her, his chair tilted back and balanced on the back legs as he stared, unmoving, at the ceiling.

"She said no." Harry responded quietly, eyes trained on the surface of his small kitchen table.

Hermione squeezed his hand in hers, hoping to convey many unspoken thoughts. "Then what happened?" she asked gently.

He sighed heavily. "We just looked at each other for a long time. Then I kissed her cheek and said 'good luck with everything.' Then I left."

Ron straightened his chair then, a grim look on his face. "Well, you don't worry. I'll go up there tomorrow and have a right quick word with my sister--"

"No." Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

"That'll just make it worse." Hermione added.

"How d'ya figure?!"

"This is something they have to work out themselves."

"Oi, well, how's that going to happen, if they've split up?"

Ron's selection of words hung darkly in the air. It sounded unnatural. Harry drew back his hand with another sigh. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry beat her to it.

"Does anyone know where I can owl Romilda Vane?"

The repugnance in Ron's voice was tremendous. "That's desperation, mate."

"I'm only joking." he said, smiling feebly.

"Well, I would certainly hope so." Hermione replied. "I'd advise that you don't rush into another relationship right away, Harry. I know it's tempting, but you'll only be doing yourself a disservice."

Ron turned to her, an incredulous look on his face. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I've had other boyfriends, Ron."

"Like who?"

She was about to fire back a retort, but Harry dragged himself to his feet. "Thanks for coming over, guys. But I think I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Of course." Hermione said, getting up as well and throwing her arms around her friend. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks again."

"Anytime." Ron said, getting up as well. He and Harry exchanged a grim sort of handshake that Hermione had seen a lot of at the funerals following the final battle.

Involuntarily, she remembered how, on the terrible day of Fred's funeral, Ginny had stood over her brother's casket, hand pressed over her mouth like she was holding back vomit, tears, or both; Harry had very gently taken her elbow and led her away, a look of utmost concern and tenderness on his face. The image had warmed her heart at the time. Now it made her want to cry.

Harry walked them to the door, giving them a half-hearted wave before shutting it behind them. Once in the stale-smelling elevator of the Muggle apartment building that Harry lived in, Hermione snuck a glance at Ron, who seemed to be in a rather dark mood.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That I'd be pretty keen on flying up to Hogwarts tonight and hexing my sister. Either that or literally cursing her out, I haven't decided yet.

The elevator lurched to a gut-tingling stop, and she followed him through the dim hallway that smelled of salmon and tobacco and out onto the street.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he darted into the garbage-strewn alley next to building.

"To Shell Cottage. And you're coming with me." he replied, barely visible in the darkness. Before she could respond, he seized her wrist and turned, pulling her along into the a suffocating blackness that was over in an instant. When she opened her eyes, they stood in the garden behind Shell Cottage, which was ablaze with light. A featherlike snow was falling, and far below them, waves broke vociferously along the rocky shore.

She hurried after Ron, who climbed the back stairs in one step and pounded on the door. Bill swung it open a moment later, looking concerned.

"What's happened?" he asked, ushering them into the small, immaculately clean kitchen. In the pristine white apron sink, an unmanned sponge was scrubbing heavy iron griddle.

Fleur Delacour Weasley, dressed in a fuzzy-looking pink dressing gown and reading glasses, appeared in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen, looking alarmed. "Ron! 'ermione! Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Fleur--" Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.

"Let's sit down."

Hermione gave Bill and Fleur an exasperated look as Ron marched into the sitting room and threw himself on the sofa. A fire burned cheerfully in the grate, and a rocking chair was pulled up close to it, an overflowing basket of knitting needles and myriad colours of yarn at its' feet. Bill sat down across from him while Fleur moved her rocking chair away from the fire and ushered Hermione onto the loveseat.

"Tell me what's going on." Bill said evenly.

"Well, mate, a helluva lot. Charlie's getting married--"

"I knew that."

"Percy's girl is having a baby--"

"I knew that too."

"And Gi-- you did?"

"I did. He came here and told me."

"Oh. Well, and Ginny sacked Harry off."

"That I didn't know."

They sat in silence for a moment, which was all it took for Ron to sit up, looking annoyed. "Well, aren't you going to _do_ anything?"

Bill laughed. "Of course not. And you aren't either."

Ron was indignant. "Why not?! Someone's got to talk some sense into her--"

"No, they don't. This is something that they're going to have top work out themselves, which I'm sure Hermione has told you." She smiled thankfully at Bill, who gave her a wink before continuing. "And why are you so bothered by this anyway?"

Ron looked pained. "It's my sister and my best mate, I just want them to be happy."

"Maybe they'll be 'appier apart?" Fleur suggested. "Though I did always t'ink zat 'arry and Ginny made a _charmant_ couple."

"Me too!"

"Oh, Ron, no you didn't." Hermione wasn't able to help herself. "I thought you were going to punch Harry in the teeth when you burst in on them snogging in her room last summer--"

"That was different! They weren't dating then, I didn't want him playing with her feelings like that--"

"Oh, because your experience with Lavender Brown went so well--"

"It's not nice to speak ill of the dead."

Hermione quashed the desire to roll her eyes, but just barely. "I'm not speaking ill of her, Ron, I'm speaking ill of _you_."

"Anyway!" he said, scowling at her before turning to Bill. "I just think that she's going to regret this."

"And she very well might. But it's not for us to decide. You can be there for her, and be there for him, but you shouldn't be trying to put your oar in the middle of their relationship. If they're meant to be together, they will. But until then, there's nothing that you, or I, or anyone can do."

Fleur gave her husband a radiant smile. "Precisely."

Ron sat back and folding his arms across his midsection. Hermione held her hand in front of her smile. He looked very much like Ginny at this particular moment.

"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss, or have you only dropped in on us with this one thing on your mind?" Bill asked with a smile.

Ron muttered something rude under his breath. Bill turned to Hermione. "How about you, Hermione, how is everything?

"Oh, everything's going well, thanks."

"How's the Ministry?"

"Oh, it's very interesting. I'm sitting in on a committee meeting on Tuesday, they'll be drafting some new laws about apparition in Muggle areas. Did you hear about Harry's trip with the Aurors?"

He nodded. "I did. I heard he did well." He hesitated. "I also heard that John Proudfoot was banged up pretty bad, and Faustina Preston got her ankle broken."

"I don't know what zese people are t'inking." Fleur said angrily. "Playing at Death Eaters. Didn't we just finish a war zat was 'ellish? Did we learn not'ing?"

"I'm not sure that anyone's playing." Bill said. "There'll always be people out there with an interest in the Dark Arts. It's just when they start congregating that I get worried." He stroked his chin. "And I have to say, the idea of Rosier still being alive is concerning to me."

A shiver moved up Hermione's spine. Suddenly, the room didn't feel so warm and cosy. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fleur pulling her dressing gown tighter around her.

"Don't worry." Bill said with a smile at his wife. "Kingsley always has his ear to the ground. The Order of the Phoenix still exists; now it just involves most of the Ministry. That's why they sent the Aurors to investigate-- quell these things before they have time to get strong. Can I interest anyone in some brandy?"

"I'm interested." Ron said, looking suddenly eager.

Bill got to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen, where they could hear him rummaging around. Fleur reached for her knitting, pulling a skein of buttery yellow yarn into her lap. Hermione watched her needles working for a moment before realizing that she was working on a tiny hat.

"That's a lovely hat, Fleur." she said, looking at it significantly.

Fleur turned the hat over in her lap, running her slender fingers along the edge. "_Merci, _'ermione."

"Is it for you?"

She smiled. "No. Or, I should say, not yet. I'm making it for Percy's _bebe_."

"You know it's not actually Percy's kid, right?" Ron asked.

"I know. But 'e said… well, 'e said zat Penelope and he might want to raise zee baby together regardless."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. Even Hermione was taken aback. "You're joking, right?' he said.

"_Non._"

Bill entered from the kitchen, carrying three glasses of brandy and a steaming mug of something. "Tell me she's joking." Ron demanded.

"What is it now?" he asked with a grin, handing the mug to Fleur and one of the glasses to Hermione.

"She just said Percy is thinking of raising that slag's baby!" Ron said, accepting a glass of brandy and laying waste to half of it with one mouthful. "Wow, that's strong."

"It's Muggle." Bill said, settling back down in the wing chair near the hearth. "And why are so you so militant about Percy and Penelope not reconciling? I don't have to remind you that you came here demanding that someone go to Hogwarts and lay into Ginny for breaking up with Harry."

"It's not exactly the same thing! It's not even his kid! That's stupid!"

Wincing as he sipped from his glass, Bill swallowed hard and shrugged. "Some people would say it's noble."

"Some people are effing mental."

Bill laughed. "Well, you're right about that. Percy's in an odd place right now. Did you know he thinks he's responsible for Fred's death?"

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Ron said, but he looked surprised.

"Maybe so. But he still feels that way."

"How awful. Why would he think that?" Hermione asked.

"He feels that, if he hadn't returned to fight, Fred wouldn't have been in the hallway when the wall blew in."

"That's mental." Ron scoffed, but he looked disturbed. "I mean, really mental."

"He thinks George blames him too."

"He doesn't."

"I know that. Percy doesn't."

"Someone ought to tell him."

"That someone ought to be George." Hermione said slowly.

Bill nodded. "I think so too."

Ron tossed back the rest of his brandy and set in on the floor. "When are you two going to have a kid?" he asked unexpectedly.

"When are you two going to get married?" Bill countered.

"Soon." he said, which was news to Hermione. She looked at him, half stunned and half elated. Ron blushed almost as red as his hair. "When are you two going to have a baby?"

"Well, we were planning on giving it a go tonight, then you showed up at the door." Bill said with a grin that had appeared so often on the faces of Fred and George. It was Fleur's turn to redden.

Ron jumped to his feet. "Point taken." he said, motioning for Hermione. She set down her full glass on the side table and got up as well.

" 'e was only joking!" Fleur said, giving her husband a furious look. He just chuckled. "You don't have to leave right now!"

"It's all right." Ron said. "It's getting late anyway."

Fleur and Bill walked them to the back door, where they traded goodbyes before Ron and Hermione went back out into the garden. The snow had stopped, but a chilly wind had picked up. The waves, of course, still crashed steadily on.

"Sorry about that." he said.

"Don't be. I thought it was cute."

He wrinkled his nose. "I thought it was gross. In fact, I'm not sure that I want to be out here right now. Who knows what they're doing in there."

Hermione laughed. "How is it different for them then for us?"

"He's my brother."

"So's George."

"I don't like to think of that either."

"So's Percy."

"And we already know that we don't have to worry about that yet." He paused. "I meant what I said, by the way. About us getting married soon."

Her heart skipped a beat. "You did?"

"Yeah. I mean, you want to, right?" he said quickly, looking anxious.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, good." he said, sounding relieved. "But I'm not, ya know, asking you yet. I want to do that right."

"What's 'right'?"

"You know. With a plan, and a ring, and somewhere nice."

"None of that matters to me."

"I know. But… but it's important to me to make it perfect. You deserve that." He stepped closer to her.

"Nothing's perfect." She murmured as he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"You are."

"No I'm not."

"You are to me." he said. His voice sounded thick. She wondered how it was that he still gave her butterflies in her stomach right before he kissed her, even after all this time.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Really short chapter! I was looking for plot advancement, and actually didn't set out to achieve it with just dialogue-- but it almost frightens me how the story seems to take over sometimes. For example, I didn't intend for this to end so fluffily, I actually had another portion that was slightly more suggestive. But it was lame, so I canned it, and, being a nerdy romantic who will be celebrating her fourth wedding anniversary on Thursday, I went with this instead. More action ahead.

I have trouble writing Ron and Hermione sometimes, but I really like them, and their interaction. They have an interesting dynamic-- sometimes they act like siblings/rivals and snipe at each other, but I like the fact that they're both completely in love with each other, even if they don't always show it. In the second story in this series (which will be titled "Spring", imagine that!), I plan on making the relationship between Ron and Hermione more of a focal point.

That said, I have three-- possible four-- more chapters on deck for this story, before the next one comes along. _Obrigado muito _to the delightful individuals that reviewed the last chapter: Gray Eyed Beauty, WaffleNinja, Hyperlily, Amaherst and momma2twobeauties. Every update, I sit there saying to myself "I really hope they like it!"


	13. Chapter 13

The following weeks were hellish. As the end of January rapidly approached, Harry moped through eating and working, and tacitly avoided his friends' frequent owls, visits and general concern. His brain was having difficulty functioning; it seemed as though whenever he wasn't thoroughly engaged in something, his thoughts turned immediately to Ginny, which in turn led to him trying to convince himself _not_ to think about Ginny, which then ended up either in total chaos or total boredom-- lower fork, stab food, lift food, eat food, swallow food, repeat. Auror Preston had already chewed him out twice for his lack of attention, Ron was alternately trying to ply him with alcohol and muttering threats to curse his sister, and Hermione was beginning to treat him as though he were feeble.

She had taken him to lunch at some Muggle teashop the previous day, after a rather long and depressing morning in the old Apparition classroom, and he had been very focused on keeping his mind off of what Ginny might have been doing at that particular moment.

"Are you all right?" she had asked, after a very long silence.

"What? Yes, fine."

She had set down her forkful of macédoine and leaned over the table. "Harry, you've been buttering that crumpet for five minutes now."

He had looked down and been stunned to find himself holding a limp cake in his hand, sodden and dripping with melted butter, most of which was pooled in his palm. "I, uh, like it like this."

She'd cocked an eyebrow at him. "Since when?"

"Since always." he'd replied, in a more quarrelsome tone than he'd wanted to, setting down his knife and taking a large bite of the crumpet. It tasted like a mouthful of shortening. She'd watched as he chewed and swallowed with great difficulty, and then downed a nearly full cup of tea in two gulps.

"Have you tried talking to Ginny?" she'd asked gently, as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and set down the cup, breathing heavily and trying to fight the crumpet from coming back up.

"No."

"Maybe you should."

That was around the time that he had left. He didn't exactly remember the reason he gave, only that it was pretty weak. She hadn't argued, just watched sadly as he'd walked out. Now, he felt badly about forgetting to give her money-- not so badly, though, that he was particularly eager to go to lunch with her again and endure the same line of questioning.

Something slammed into the wall near his right ear, barely missing the magical windows that were currently advertising a blizzard. He looked up, disoriented, to see his classmates standing near the door, staring at him, and Auror Preston, eyes blazing, in her classic just-hurled-a-book stance. Sure enough, a thick tome on advanced defensive spells lay on the ground next to his desk, binding split.

"Sorry." he said sheepishly.

"It's time for lunch, Potter. You've been so busy not paying attention all morning that you must not have noticed." Her tone was quite frosty and reminded him very much of Potions class with Snape.

He flushed as his classmates snickered on their way out of the classroom. Parvati Patil hovered by the door, but a stern look from Auror Preston sent her scurrying down the hall and out of sight. Now, she approached him, arms crossed over her red-robed chest. He swallowed hard.

"What's your problem this week?" she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose with one long finger.

"Er, no problem--"

"Don't lie to me, Potter, it's insulting to both of us. I could Legilimens you from two floors away and you know it."

His face burned. "I'm sorry."

She glanced over her shoulder at the door, and then took a step closer to him. "What we saw out there, Potter-- did it bother you?"

It took a moment for him to realize that she was talking about their excursion to the Dartmoor. "No, not at all. It's-- it's nothing to do with that. I thought that was interesting, going out to the mill, and I… no, see…" He floundered for words. She just looked at him expectantly. "My girlfriend and I broke up," he said finally, seriously wanting something heavy and large to fall through the ceiling and crush him to spare him her reaction. "And I'm taking it, er, badly."

Something fleeting crossed her face, and for a terrible second, he thought she was going to laugh at him. Then it was gone. "How old are you, Potter?" she asked, pressing two fingers to the top of his desk.

"Eighteen."

"And how old is your girlfriend?"

"Seventeen."

"Is that Arthur Weasley's daughter?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She smiled, but it was kind, not mocking. "You've been through a lot, Potter, things that make you more mature than someone three times your age-- but not in every way. Give yourself some credit; you're still only eighteen. You don't have to have it all figured out yet. It's all right to be upset, but put it into perspective. Take some time. If it's meant to be, it'll happen."

It was something he'd heard frequently over the past few weeks, especially from Hermione. Andromeda Tonks had said it twice in one letter. Funny how it was the best advice women felt they could give him-- it stopped short of dashing his hopes entirely, and left just enough ambiguity to be infuriating. Still, the other things Preston had just said made sense, sort of. "Thank you, Auror Preston." he said, deciding that she might know what she was talking about. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome." she said, turning her back on him and walking back to the front of the room as he got up from his seat and headed for the door. "But Potter?"

"Yes?" He turned from the doorway to face her, now seated at her desk.

"If you come in here again and don't pay rapt attention to _every word_ that leaves my mouth, I'll find highly memorable ways in which to remind you where your thoughts should be whilst in my classroom. Just ask Kirke."

He nodded. "Yes, Auror Preston." Before she could throw something else at him, he sped into the hallway and away from the classroom.

The Department of Magical Transportation was rather abandoned at this hour, as was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where he headed next to collect Hermione. He hurried past the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, as he had every day for the past thirteen days, but the only occupant was a witch with a bulbous black beehive hairdo, dictating a report into a fluffy white quill. Mr. Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

He walked through the warren of offices, cubicles, and alcoves, finally stopping at the entrance to Hermione's cubicle, resigned to try and have an actual lunch with her, complete with dialogue, and, if he could muster it, enthusiasm. It was, surprisingly, empty. This was most unusual.

For a few minutes, he hung around, but she did not appear. Finally, he headed for the lifts. There would be no way he'd be able to put for the much-needed effort to get through the afternoon if he didn't eat now, especially considering he hadn't consumed a proper meal since before going up to Hogwarts.

As he waited for the lift, someone called his name. He turned. "Hi, Katie. What are you doing up here?"

Katie Bell was coming up the hallway toward him, carrying a large stack of lilac-coloured papers. She came to a stop next to him. "Picking these up. Where are you headed?"

"Oh, I'm going to grab something to eat. I went over to Hermione's cube, but she wasn't there."

"I passed her early this morning and she said she was going to sit in on a Wizengamot hearing. Some guy from Tarmonbarry is being charged with trafficking a bunch of magical creatures and house-elves. They say he was trying to sell them to Muggle circuses or something. Broke a whole bunch of laws. She's probably still down there; you know how those things run over."

"House-elves? To Muggle circuses? Really?"

"I know, right? He was apparently trying to pass them off as midgets. I hear it took three Hit-Wizards to bring him in, and the entire team of Obliviators had to go out to every circus and carnival they could find." She laughed. "Some people just don't think."

"I guess not. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was going to go over to The Leaky Cauldron for some lunch. You can come to, if you want."

"All right." he agreed. The brass doors of the lift opened, and it was empty save for the operator and a flock of interdepartmental memos. "The Atrium, please." he said as the doors glided shut. "What've you got there?"

She patted the stack of paper and juggled it to the other arm. "Floo Network violations that I have to send out. I had to get them signed by the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"There's that many violations?"

"Oh yeah. People get real bold over the holidays-- there was one witch in Dunfermline who somehow connected to the network from two different Muggle residences. How she did it, we have no idea. But she did. And there was another witch who let her Muggle stepdaughter use the network to get to another house. A Muggle using Floo powder! I didn't even think that could happen." She chuckled. "But yeah, that's my life these days."

The lift eased to a stop, and the doors withdrew to reveal the Atrium, which was, as usual, buzzing with activity. They crossed the floor to the line of fireplaces along the far wall, into which wizards and witches disappeared in bursts of bright green flames.

"See, I can't escape it." Katie joked as she stepped into the hearth. Harry followed suit. He emerged a moment later in the bustling main room of The Leaky Cauldron, with Katie standing above him, offering her hand as he tumbled out of the fireplace.

"You need to learn to put your feet down sooner." she said, hauling him to his feet.

"You need to work on making the spinning go slower."

"I'll try." she said with a smile.

They found themselves a small table near the window, and an ill-tempered wait-witch took their orders. A few minutes later, when plates of food settled onto the table by their own power, Katie pushed aside her pile of violations.

"I heard you and Ginny broke up." she said unexpectedly.

Harry paused, his fork poised above a steaming chicken and ham pie. His mouth watered, and he swallowed hard. "Yeah." he answered simply, pushing his fork through the flaky crust with more power than it required.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks." he said lamely. "How did you find out?"

"Angelina told me."

"How does she know?"

Katie shrugged. "I assume that George told her. Don't be angry."

"I'm not. I'm just surprised that everyone knows."

"Angelina and I aren't exactly 'everyone', Harry."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence, Harry paying more attention the food in front of him than anything else in the room. After awhile, he became aware that Katie was looking at him intently, her bacon sandwich laying untouched on the plate. He shifted uncomfortably. "What's up?"

"Well, uh, Angelina starts training next Saturday. She's invited some of us to go down and watch. Do you want to come?"

The first thought Harry had was that he hadn't gotten to see Angelina play with the Harpies yet. She's been recruited midway through the last season, but he'd been so caught up in the aftermath of the battle that he hadn't ever made it out to a match. His second thought was how odd it was that Katie was blushing. Her face was so red that she looked like a tomato in a blonde wig. "Sure."

She smiled wide, her face slowly returning to its normal shade. "Great. She'll be really excited to hear that you're coming."

"Oh yeah? Well, good then." He waited to see if she had anything else to say before he returned to his chicken and ham pie. She turned her attention to her sandwich, but before she could lift it to her mouth, she stole a glance at him. When their eyes met, she smiled, cheeks turning pink again. Puzzled, Harry returned the smile, and when she looked down once more, he attacked the rest of his lunch with gusto.

When they had finished their meals and settled up with their surly wait-witch, they exited the pub via the front door and set off up Charing Cross Road, towards the Ministry. Katie asked him about his training, and seemed particularly interested in his trip to Dartmoor, nodding and gasping at the appropriate moments.

"So were any of the other trainees sore about not getting selected to go?"

"I don't think so. Adrian Pucey made a couple of jokes about 'the chosen boy', but everyone seemed interested in what we'd seen. And Rick Chambers got to go along with Duffy and Williamson last week; they checked out some stolen goods from Borgin & Burkes."

"Oh. So you don't think she fancies you?"

"Who?"

"Auror Preston."

The suggestion was so completely unexpected and off the wall that he burst into laughter. "_Preston_? That's absolutely mental. Of course she doesn't." He continued to laugh until he caught sight of her face, which was annoyed. Quickly, he stopped. When he opened his mouth to apologize, another laugh snuck out, which he quickly turned into a very theatrical coughing fit. "Oh, er… sorry."

"It's all right." she said, but didn't sound convincing.

When they arrived back in the Ministry Atrium, he turned to her. "Look, Katie, I'm sorry if I offended you. The idea of Auror Preston being interested in me--" --the words sounding utterly foreign when strung together like that-- "-- is very… odd. She's ten years older than me, at least, and…."

"It's all right. I just thought-- well, never mind. Thanks for apologizing, though, Harry. You're sweet. Do you still want to come see Angelina with me next week?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

She smiled and tucked her sheaf of purple papers under her arm. "Great. I'll see you around, Harry. I've got to go get these set up with owls."

"Okay." he said, heading for the lifts as she disappeared into the crowd of witches and wizards. He stepped into a lift, still mulling over Katie's bizarre behaviour at lunch. It was only when the lift started moving up that he realized he'd forgotten to tell the operator which level he wanted.

The lift doors opened at level nine, and there stood Hermione, absorbed in the contents of a leather binder. She stepped into the lift without looking. "Two, if you will."

The operator pulled a lever and the doors closed silently. The lift began to move. Harry moved so that he was right over Hermione's shoulder. "Hi."

She jumped, almost losing hold of her file. "Merlin, Harry, you scared me."

"Sorry." he said, but grinned.

A smile spread across her face. "Well, you're looking better."

"I feel a little better. Key word being little. How was the hearing?"

"Well, that's a step in the right direction." She paused, eyebrows knit together in bewilderment. "How did you know I was at a hearing?"

"I had lunch with Katie. She told me."

Hermione's eyebrows now shot up her foreheard, almost to her hairline. "Katie? Katie Bell?"

It was Harry's turn to be confused. "Yeah. Why?"

"Did anyone else have lunch with you?"

"Uh… no. Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

Hermione was never particularly good at lying, and she was making an especially poor showing of it now. "Come on, Hermione, what is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Oh look, here's my floor. I'll see you later, Harry!" she said, practically running out of the lift and onto the taupe carpet that covered the floor of the second level. He stared after, bemused.

Before he had too much time to wonder, though, the doors closed and the lift operator spoke up. "Are you gonna tell me what level you want now, sonny Jim, or am I gonna have to guess?"

"Er, six, please."

"Terrific." The lift glided smoothly down, and when the doors opened again at the sixth level, he hurried out and away, hoping to never have to run into that particular operator again.

When he returned to the classroom, he found his fellow trainees on their feet, wands in hand. Preston was at her desk, conferring quietly with Greenly. Harry noticed, with a sinking feeling, that the rest of the desks had been pushed back to the perimeter of the room. With an inward sigh, he dug his wand out of his pocket and waited around with the rest of his classmates for direction.

"All right." Preston said, climbing to her feet. "This afternoon, we're going to practice dodging spells." Harry could sense a collective groan, though no one made a sound. "Break into pairs. One will hex-- just simple stuff here, people-- one will dodge, and we'll switch off every couple of spells. There's an uneven number of us, which is why Greenly has joined us. Get creative; don't just aim right at your partner. I want to see people jumping, diving, sliding, whatever you have to do to get out of the way. I want to see _sweating_."

"Excuse me." Parvati raised her hand into the air.

"Yes, Patil?"

"Are we casting verbal or nonverbal spells?"

"Hmmm. Mix it up. And, just to keep it interesting, I'll be coming around to watch. Occasionally, I might throw a hex your way, so keep on your toes."

There was a low level of noise as everyone broke into pairs. Harry found himself across from Rick Chambers, and next to Parvati, who looked less than thrilled to have Greenly as her partner. Preston shut the door and climbed up onto her desk to keep an eye on the proceedings.

"Okay, let's see-- Potter, Patil, Entwhistle and McManus, you dodge first. The rest of you lot will hex. Dazzle me."

"_Expelliarmus_!" Rick called, pointing his wand straight at Harry, who fell to his knees and easily avoided the spell. However, as Harry was getting to his feet, he almost got hit with Jelly-Legs, which Kevin had manage to fire at him when he wasn't looking. He leapt forward, the flash of light just barely missing the small of his back.

"Careful, Harry!" Parvati said, ducking next to him as one of Greenly's spells came speeding at them. She smiled at him. "This is rather like the D.A. ag-" Instead of finishing her sentence, she fell to the floor with a thud. Harry looked up, confused, and saw Preston pointing her wand in their direction.

"Gotta keep your eyes open, Patil." she said mildly as Parvati got to her feet.

Ten minutes more into dodging Rick's spells, Harry was coated in dust and had bruised his elbow pretty badly, but had still fallen victim to the Sponge-Knees jinx. He was very pleased when they got to switch off. He was supposed to be cursing Kevin Entwhistle, but found himself spending most of his time avoiding spells cast by Emily McManus, who had the bad habit of hexing before aiming.

Finally, he was squaring off against Adrian Pucey, the sarcastic Slytherin who had been in the same year as the Weasley twins.

"Why, if it isn't the infamous Harry Potter, the Chosen Boy." he joked, joggling his eyebrows at Harry from across the floor.

"Well, if it isn't the less-famous Adrian Pucey, one of the last people I expected to pursue a career as an Auror."

Pucey considered this, tapping the tip of his wand against his chin. "Not bad. _Rictusempra!_"

Harry feinted, moving first left and then right as Pucey fired off a round of hexes. A Stinging hex missed him by bare millimetres; he hit the ground just in time. He rolled to the side as a canary transfiguration hex struck the floor. It _was_ a lot like being back in the D.A., he thought as he got to his feet just in time to dive behind a desk. Parvati gave him a broad grin from across the room.

Suddenly, the room flip-flopped, and he found himself hanging in the air by his ankle, blinking in surprise as all the blood rushed to his face. Preston appeared below, her wand trained on him.

"I thought we had a conversation about you paying attention, Potter?"

"I, uh, I…."

"Well, I guess you'll be working on that tomorrow."

XxX

On Saturday morning, Harry dressed in his oldest clothes, met Ron and Hermione for breakfast, and then they all walked over to Grimmauld Place. Number twelve sagged between the Muggle residences on either side, looking as just as decrepit as it always had.

"Oi, this is gonna take forever." Ron groaned as they trouped up the front stairs, casting long looks over the cracked stairs and rusted hand railing.

Harry touched his wand to the silver serpent hanging in the middle of the door. It swung inward, with a high-pitched screech that made them wince. They crowded in the doorway, staring down the long, narrow hallway, the walls of which was covered in dark silk and ages worth of spiderwebs and grime. The few pieces of furniture in the hallway were turned over or broken, surely from when the Death Eaters had come looking. Anger bubbled up in his stomach at the thought, but Harry quelled it. Maybe there would be time now to make it better.

"Well," he said, stepping over the threshold and into the foyer, "welcome to my humble abode."

Hermione and Ron followed him, shutting the door behind them. The gloom was incredible. They stood silently for a moment, but the dust-figure of Dumbledore did not arise from the doormat, and no spell shrivelled their tongues.

"Hello?" Harry called, tentatively at first. "Hello?"

No flying curtain, no screaming of Mudbloods, not even the slightest peep from Mrs. Black's portrait. Harry looked back at his friends, then again to the hallway of his house, finally lighting his wand and holding it high above his head. "What do you think this means?" he asked.

"Maybe the spell is broken?" Hermione suggested. Her voice was hushed, reverent, like she was in a holy place.

"Maybe."

He crept forward, stepping over a pile of ruined books, listening to the floorboards groaning beneath the filthy, moth-eaten carpet. The light from his wand cast eerie shadows across the walls as he approached the place where it hung. Heart pounding, ready to drop his wand and clap his hands over his ears, he reached for the cobwebbed curtain that was pulled across Mrs. Black's portrait. Then he jerked it back.

Hanging on the wall-- _his_ wall, he corrected himself-- was a very large, ornately-framed picture of a sour-faced old woman. The subject was fightening, surely, but she did not yell. She did not screech. She did not even sway. Harry's heart rate returned to normal as he stared up at the dark canvas, which could have been hanging in any Muggle museum.

"I think it's safe." he said.

Ron and Hermione came forward to inspect. "It's almost sad." she said, reaching up to touch the frame like it was a sacred relic.

Ron cocked an eyebrow at her. "_Sad?_ D'you remember what the old bag used to say about you?"

"I remember."

They stood looking at the portrait for a quiet moment. Harry, who was actively battling with himself not to well up, shook his head as though loosening himself from cobwebs. _Quit acting like a wet end_, he scolded himself. "Come on, Ron, help me get this thing down."

"With pleasure, mate."

It took a great deal of huffing and swearing, but soon the gigantic painting was sitting on the floor, leaving a perfectly clean, pearly grey rectangle on the wall where it had hung since before they had been born.

"That must be the original wall covering. It's lovely." Hermione said, nodding her approval at the expanse of faultlessly preserved silk.

"Yeah, it's nice. Too bad it's all coming down." replied Harry.

"What?"

"It's all coming down. Look at the rest of it; it's a complete mess. No, it's all coming down, and the walls are being painted. All the broken furniture that can't be fixed-- and all the ugly stuff-- is getting thrown out. This carpet is getting ripped up. This is a house that should be lived in, not a shrine."

"Well said. Perhaps you should tell George." Ron said.

"I-- what?" Harry said, momentarily confused. "What do you mean?"

"That it's not a shrine. I mean, I don't think he's opened the door to Fred's room since he died. Before Christmas, when Ginny was cleaning-- sorry, when the harpy was cleaning," he amended, with a look at Harry that managed to be contrite and furious at the same time, "She went in there to sweep up the dust. Then she brought out all the crusty, mouldy plates that'd been in there. George went round the bend. I mean, yelling, cursing, throwing stuff, the whole bit."

"That's so sad." Hermione said. "And your sister isn't a harpy."

Ron pointedly ignored this statement as he continued. "Yeah, it was ugly. Mum has been over a couple of times to try to help him clean out Fred's room. Her and Dad went through the twins' old room themselves, and I guess they thought it'd be good for him. He all but booted her out of the flat. Maybe he should come help us; he'll see it isn't so bad."

"He can come help, but I'm certainly not going to try to convince him he should employ the same methods in his own house." Harry said. "I've seen him wield a bat."

"It was just a suggestion." Ron replied with a shrug. "I'm just saying, it's not like we couldn't use the room. I'm sleeping on the sofa, for Godric's sake."

"We could certainly use a room with a door." Hermione agreed, then blushed a rather impressive shade of cerise.

Harry, who usually found these vaguely sexual references to be amusing, found himself not really wanting to continue down this avenue. He rubbed his hands briskly together. "Yeah, Ron, see if George wants to come by next week to help out. Maybe it'll inspire him. In the meantime, let's see if we can't get some light in here."

In the space of an hour, they managed to pull down the heavy, grubby draperies in the living room, sitting room and dining room, filling the dark, faded rooms not only with billows of dust but also with streaky sunlight for what must have been the first time in decades. Hermione set to work cleaning the windows while Ron and Harry struggled to pull up the carpet in the living room.

"This isn't really working." Ron said, rolling back on his haunches and wiping sweat from his forehead. They had only managed to get a small corner up. "Any suggestions?" he called over his shoulder, to where Hermione was balanced on the arm of a moth-eaten divan and using her wand to polish each pane of glass to spotless perfection.

"You've already tried every spell I can think of. Why don't you try calling Kreacher?"

Ron looked at Harry expectantly, but he shook his head. "I'd rather not. He might get angry."

"I think he'll be more angry if you wait 'til we're done and he comes back to find the place looking like it's gonna be featured in _Wizard Homes & Gardens_."

"Oh, you're right." Harry sighed, resigned. "Kreacher!"

With an firm pop, the house-elf appeared in the middle of the troublesome carpet, Regulus Black's locket just visible beneath his white smock. Harry was pleased to see that a Gryffindor school tie was wound around his skinny waist. "Master is needing Kre…." The jovial look on his face morphed to shock with such speed that it was almost comical. "M-Master Harry is doing some redecorating?" he croaked.

"Hi Kreacher. How are you?" Harry asked kindly.

"Kreacher is…." he trailed off, muttering something unintelligible as he looked around. His eyes seemed to glisten they fell on the crumbled heap of discarded draperies in the corner of the room.

"Kreacher, listen." Harry said, placing one hand on the elf's knobbly shoulder. He looked back over his own shoulder for direction. Ron hid a grin behind his hand, but Hermione nodded encouragingly. "I'm going to be coming here to live in a few weeks. Would that be all right with you?"

"Kreacher wishes for Master to live in Master's house, if it would please Master."

"Well, thanks, Kreacher. But we're going to have to do some--" There was a sharp clearing of a throat behind him. "--a lot of cleaning before I can live in here full-time. I'm, uh, allergic to dust." A strange barking sound came from low on the ground behind him, followed by a sensationally long coughing fit. Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying not to laugh along with Ron. "What do you think of that?"

"Kreacher wishes for Master to be comfortable." Kreacher said thickly. He sounded near tears.

"I appreciate that, but I want you to be comfortable too."

The elf turned his large eyes from the offended curtains to Harry's face. "Master Harry wishes for Kreacher to live in Master's house as well?"

"Well, sure." said Harry. "If you want."

"Kreacher does enjoy his work at Hogwarts, but it would be nice to have a home to return to at holidays and long weekends."

"Absolutely, Kreacher. Anything you want. And how about this? We'll put together your own room for you." he said, improvising wildly. "And we can make it just the way you want. We can leave it like it is now, if you want. And perhaps we could put some of the Black family things in your room, so you could, uh, keep them safe?"

Kreacher nodded ferociously, but seemed too emotional to speak.

"Yeah, because the Death Eaters really wrecked the place, it looks like. Some of this stuff we'll probably have to get rid of, but it'd be really great if you could hang onto the rest. Would that be okay?"

Again, Kreacher nodded. "Master Harry is very kind to Kreacher." His thin mouth wavered, and it sounded as though his sinuses were stuffed with cotton.

"Kreacher, it's my pleasure. Before you go, though, do you have any idea how we could get this old holey carpet up?"

It was then that Kreacher conjured something that looked very much like a Muggle crowbar, and spent the rest of the afternoon prying up carpet tacks and rolling up the filthy rugs. Harry was pleased to discover that, beneath the carpets, the dark wood floors were in great condition and actually quite handsome. While Kreacher tore up the rugs, Hermione managed to get all the windows on the ground level clean, while Ron and Harry repaired what furniture they could and stacked the rest in the hallway to be disposed of.

Their last chore of the day was to carry Mrs. Black's portrait up three flights of stairs and deposit it in Regulus's old room, which Kreacher had decided he'd like to take as his own. Ron and Harry centered it on the wall across from the bed, and Hermione affixed it to the Slytherin-green wallpaper with a (non- permanent) sticking charm.

As they walked down the stairs back into the entrance hall, covered in a thick layer of sweat, dirt, and other assorted filth, Harry was feeling the kind of tired that comes after a long day's honest labour. The others seemed to be in high spirits as well.

"Thanks for your help, Kreacher." Harry said as the elf prepared to Disapparate. "We really appreciate it."

"Master Harry and his friends are most welcome. Kreacher is much obliged to Master for his kind bequest of my Mistress's portrait."

"I'm sure the pleasure is all Harry's." Ron said with a smirk. "His is a kind nature."

"Master's friend reminds Kreacher to compliment Master on his level-headedness and trusting disposition." Kreacher said, with a reverential bow in Harry's direction.

"What do you mean, Kreacher?" Harry asked, bemused, as Ron chuckled.

"Master's lady friend spends much time in the company of the tall, yobbish half-blood. Lesser men than Master would be most unhappy."

Ron's chuckling abruptly ceased as something twisted hard in Harry's gut. "What yobbish half-blood, Kreacher?"

"Why, the yob on her Quidditch team, Master Harry. The tall one." Kreacher stooped low at Harry's feet once more. "Kreacher wishes Master and his friends a pleasant evening. Kreacher wishes to be of assistance again soon." With another loud pop, he vanished, leaving Harry feeling dually like punching something and vomiting.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I don't know what it is, but when I start writing from Harry's POV, I'm overcome by the urge to write a lot, which makes the chapters that focus on him twice as long as the others, LOL. I blame JKR for it.

Nothing really that I have to say about this chapter, other than that. I did enjoy, though, Harry and KReacher's interaction-- it's the first time I've written a house-elf. This has nothing to do with the story, or even with HP in the slightest, but I got the most rad concrete goose statue off of Freecycle. I plan on repairing him (he's got some broken parts) and repainting him, and perhaps even sewing him a seasonal wardrobe (which will most likely include his own wee Gryffindor scarf).

I'm running out of languages, and sources for translation, but to say thank you for reviewing, I will now compose a haiku: 

_Your words are most kind_

_Every week I look for them_

_I_ _wish to please you_

So, yes, _domo arigato_ to: Hyperlily, mommato2beauties, cinroc, Amaherst, GoldenPhoenix12, Spottedfeather, Waffleninja and dnd4ever. You guys are the wind beneath my wings. snicker


	14. Chapter 14

"A young lady to see you, Mr. Weasley."

George was laying three-quarters of the way on the topmost shelf in his storeroom, his ankles wrapped around the side of a ladder. He grabbed onto the box he was rummaging through, and very carefully tried to extract himself from his precarious perch.

"Customers or friends?"

"She's here on personal business, I think."

"Thanks, Verity. Tell her I'll be right there."

"Do you need any help?" the young witch asked, an anxious look on her round face.

"I'm all right." he replied, getting his footing on the ladder and easing himself down. "D'you know who it is?"

"No, sir."

"How many times have I told you, Verity? Call me Mr. Weasley." It was a joke; he'd told her repeatedly to just call him George, but she seemed completely unwilling-- or perhaps it was unable-- to do so.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley."

"And don't apologize either. Do I look dusty?"

"A bit."

"All right, I'll brush myself off and be out in a minute. I'd like to avoid greeting patrons covered in slut's wool, if at all possible."

She just nodded and darted back out the door. Whistling some fragment of song, he removed his burgundy shop robes and gave them a firm shake. Then he put them back on, ran his hand through his hair, and pushed the fringe out of his eyes. He followed Verity out of the storeroom. Ron stood in the middle of the shop, all but ignoring Ginny, who stood at the counter. She was all togged up in green and gold and looked very amused by Ron's lack of acknowledgement.

George raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Who let you out of Hogwarts?"

She shrugged. "McGonagall. I just had to present a signed slip from Mum. Who did you think I was?"

"What?"

"I told Verity not to tell you who I was. Who did you think I was?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Mum."

"Oh. Well, surprise. What are you doing right now?"

He held out his arms and swept in a circle, gesturing to a variety of displays. "You're looking at it."

"Well, we came by to ask if you wanted to come to Holyhead with me. The Harpies start training today, and Angelina invited me out to watch. I would've asked Ron, but he's not speaking to me. And he has plans with Hermione tonight."

"Oh, that's good. He hardly sees her. It's about time they spend an evening together--"

"Sod off." Ron grumbled from the display of Pygmy Puffs, but looked pleased.

"Well," George continued, checking his watch. "I'd love to tag along, but the shop isn't closing until four and--"

Ron raised his index finger. "Twenty Galleons."

"Pardon?"

"I'll close up if you give me twenty Galleons. Payable up front, of course."

"How about seventeen?"

"How about twenty-five?"

"Ah, Ronniekins, you do drive a hard bargain. Twenty Galleons it is. You lot wait here."

George hurried back into his storeroom, where he exchanged his work robes for his winter coat and took twenty Galleons out of the safe. He was back out on the shop floor in less than two minutes. "Here you go." he said, dropping the coins into Ron's hand.

"Excellent."

"You're going like that?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose at George's jeans and wool coat.

"That's right."

"Where's your Holyhead pride?"

"It's all right here." George replied solemnly, laying his hands over his heart. "Besides, look at you."

"What's wrong with how _I'm_ dressed?" she demanded.

"You're wearing pigtails, tied with green ribbons. It's very Slytherin, might I add. There's gold H's on your cheeks. You're wearing a gold and a green glove for Godric's sake. Though, it could be worse… you could be advertising some cowboy outfit like Puddlemere United."

"Bulrushes aren't my style. Now let's get a move on, we've already wasted enough time stopping by Diagon Alley." she said, ushering George towards the door. "Bye, Ron!" she called sweetly over he shoulder. He just grunted as the shop door closed behind them.

"What was that about?" George asked, dodging a tiny witch in mauve robes who was laden with packages.

"Oh, he's sore because Harry and I broke up. It's silly-- what business is it of his?"

"I'm sure that Ron's is just feeling protective of his friend--"

"Well, he should feel protective of his sister." Ginny replied. "It's not like I found a new boyfriend and dumped Harry--"

"Oh right," George remembered a conversation he'd had with Ron the previous weekend. "What's this I hear about you and some chav on your Quidditch team? A half-blood?"

Ginny swore loudly, drawing stares from a half-dozen shoppers on the street. "Can we at least get to Holyhead first?"

"Fine with me."

They squeezed into an empty space between a bench and a rubbish bin, holding onto each other and turning on the cobblestones. When they arrived at their destination a few moments later, a cold, steady wind was blowing, bringing with it the pungent smell of saltwater.

"Come on." Ginny said, starting down the grassy hill on which they stood. A Quidditch pitch, larger than the one at Hogwarts but significantly smaller than the one that held the last World Cup, lay at the base, flying gold and dark green flags.

George fell into step next to his sister. "Well?" he prompted, after a long silence. "The yob?"

She sighed. "I believe that _darling _Kreacher was referring to Ritchie Coote, a Beater on my team."

"Oh, so, you're dating more than one guy?"

"I'm not dating anyone! Ritchie just follows me around! You know, George-- and you can tell Ron this as well-- I'm not _happy _about breaking up with Harry! It's not like I asked him to come up to Hogwarts on a free Saturday so I could just dump him."

"I know--"

"What am I supposed to do, go moping around forever? He asked me to make choices I wasn't ready to make! I'm only seventeen, you know."

He decided to try again. "I know--"

"Furthermore, I happen to feel very badly about the way things ended with Harry! There's quite a significant part of me that wanted to agree with what he asked me to do-- what, what are you staring at me like that for?"

He waited a full thirty seconds before speaking. "Can I actually say something now, or are you going to cut me off again?"

She scowled. "No, go ahead."

"If you'll recall, I didn't say a word to you about breaking up with Harry. You don't need to explain to me why you did it; I understand what you mean, believe it or not. I'm not ready to get married either, and I'm going to be twenty-one. I think Harry's a good guy, and if you want to be with him, then that's great. If not, then that's fine too. All I wanted to know was who else was sniffing around my sister."

Ginny stopped short. She turned to George, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed. He instinctively backed up a step. Then she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him with such force that he almost fell backwards down the hill.

"Thank you." she said, voice muffled, somewhere near his whole ear. Finally, she released him, then cleared her throat and made a good show of being astounded to be just outside the pitch. "Oh look. Here we are."

They made their way through the gate and into the stadium. The field was still empty, but the seats were occupied by spotty groups of people, most of whom, George noticed, were dressed in the Harpies colours. As he scanned the stands, he saw a familiar dark-haired witch in a yellow sweatshirt and earmuffs standing above them. Next to her, a dreadlocked guy in a Gryffindor scarf was holding a pair of Omnioculars to his eyes.

"Oh look, there's Alicia and Lee!" he said, pointing.

"Great, let's go sit with them." replied Ginny.

George led the way up the stairs towards Lee and Alicia, who seemed not to notice them.

"Hey." he said jovially, drawing to a stop with Ginny at his elbow. Alicia almost jumped out of her skin.

"Hi--" Lee started, but Alicia cut him off.

"Hi!" she said too loudly, a stiff smile on her wide-eyed face. "What are you doing here?"

George had expected a much warmer reception, especially considering the fact that she'd spent most of New Year's Eve trying to sit on his lap. "Uh, Angelina invited Ginny to watch practice, and she--"

Next to Alicia, Lee shifted, and George saw the reason that everyone was acting so odd: Harry Potter was sitting on Lee's other side, with Katie Bell. They both looked very embarrassed. Come to think of it, so did Lee and Alicia.

He turned instinctively, and felt his heart sink. Ginny looked shocked and hurt, her eyes and mouth both very wide. Then she blinked, and her face became a very convincing mask of ennui.

George grumbled something about finding other seats, but Ginny spoke up loudly. "Oh, no, couldn't we just sit in these seats next to Alicia? I'm sure they're going to start soon, and I'd hate to miss Angelina."

"Well, sure." Alicia said helplessly, shooting an anxious look at George.

He turned to his sister again and lowered her voice. "Ginny, are you sure?"

"I'm sure." she continued forcefully. "After all, I went through all the trouble of coming out here from school-- of course, if someone_ else _minds if we sit here…."

"No, no, of course not." Alicia said, sitting down and indicating the empty seats at the end of the row.

George sat down next to her, all of a sudden feeling very tired. Ginny sat down beside him and smiled coolly at Alicia. "Thanks Alicia. It's nice to see you. Lee, Katie. Harry. It's so nice that we all could come out today. It's really a terrific day for Quidditch."

"Terrific." Lee echoed hollowly, giving her a smile that looked more like an expression of gas pains.

A cheer from the crowd signalled George to turn his attention from the uncomfortable domestic drama unfolding around him down to the pitch. The Harpies were taking the field, led, as usual, by the diminutive but imposing figure of Gwenog Jones. He could see Angelina, in her bright gold practice robes, jogging along with the rest of her teammates.

"Look, there's Angelina!" Alicia cried unnecessarily, waving frantically down at the field. Angelina raised her broom in response.

"Oi, check it out-- they've got Comet 310s!" Lee exclaimed, passing his Omnioculars over to George. He zoomed in on the handle of the boom Angelina carried and, sure enough, it was the latest Comet model.

"Not bad. Not bad at all."

The team ran through a series of warm-ups, sprinting up and down the pitch and taking turns passing the Quaffle to each other. Each witch seemed to have friends or family in the stands, and did a fair amount of showboating-- Etta Craig, one of the starting Beaters, made a Quaffle explode into hundreds of sparkling green butterflies, mush to the delight of the spectators. When Jones finally blew her whistle, though, and they took to the air, it was all business. Well, almost.

"A little bit more impressive than good old Gryffindor, eh?" Lee asked as the Harpies zoomed from one end of the pitch to another at breakneck speed.

"Look at Angelina!" Alicia cried, gasping sensationally as she leaned low on her broom and rocketed through the hoop atop the centre goalpost like thread passing through the eye of a needle. Lee cheered, George wolf-whistled loudly, and even Ginny, who was not in the best of moods, applauded.

"What do you think?" George asked her.

"She's brilliant, really brilliant." Ginny replied. "I wish I could fly like her."

"I've seen you play, Ginny. You're a bit of alright yourself."

"I'm all right for school, maybe, but I couldn't ever do something like this."

"Bah. Give yourself some credit."

She didn't respond and, after a moment, he snuck a look down the row of seats, past Lee. Katie was leaning over, talking close to Harry's ear. He was watching the Quidditch action on the pitch, but turned his head as Katie sat back. Their eyes met, and George held his gaze for a moment, tilting his chin back just slightly in what he hoped was a look that clearly stated, "Ron may be on your side, but I'm not so sure." Harry nodded, and then looked away.

As he turned his attention back to the Harpies, who were now lined up in two long queues, taking shots on the goals while the Keeper Rebecca Murray tried to block them, George thought to himself just how glad he was that he didn't have any of these relationship problems to worry about. He'd heard a Muggle song on the Underground a while ago that seemed to sum up his thoughts rather neatly:

_If you having girl problems, I feel bad for you son. Got 99 problems but a bi--_

A long, low whistle from Lee interrupted him. "Check _that _out." he said, tossing the Omnioculars across Alicia's lap to George. "Can't Ronnie Weasley do that!"

He held them up to his eyes and zoomed in on Murray and pressed rewind. She was executing a highly effective Starfish and Stick manoeuvre, hanging onto her broomstick with one gloved hand and kicking the Quaffle away with her foot. He nodded his approval and passed them back to Lee. "You're probably right, I don't think Ron could do that... on purpose, anyway."

The next hour passed by in a blur of green and gold in the sky, and a very chilly atmosphere in the stands. At one point, George had to literally wrestle Ginny's wand away from her, as she was swinging it in Katie and Harry's direction and speaking hexes very slowly, so that none of them were actually cast but the threat was obvious. When the practice was over, he almost wept for joy when Ginny stalked off to find the rest room. Lee and Alicia led him onto the pitch to congratulate Angelina, leaving Harry and Katie to make their way down after them.

The field was crowded, but George caught sight of a familiar face in the masses. She noticed him at about the same time and hurried over, beaming.

"You're ace!" Lee called as she approached, arms wide.

George was surprised, but acquiesced himself to a hug and opened his arms as well-- only for her to dart right past him and get swept up by Davi Bezerra, who had appeared out of nowhere. Feeling silly, he put his arms down and waited for his turn to pat Angelina on the back. Finally, with Davi's hand entwined in hers, she faced him with a grin.

"You were great." he said simply as he clapped her on the shoulder.

"You think so?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you! I'm so glad you could make it-- though I have to say I'm astonished to see you here. How did they manage to tear you away from work?"

He shrugged. "Ginny showed up at the shop, convinced me to skive off--"

"Ginny? Is she here?"

"Yeah. Well, she was." George said, twisting around and scanning the crowd for a shock of bright red hair.

"George." Alicia's hand touched his forearm, exerting a gentle pressure until he looked to the right. There was Ginny, near the gate, looking angry and gesturing wildly. She looked to be in the middle of a verbal exchange with Harry, and it did not seem to be going well.

"What's going on?" Angelina asked, puzzled.

He was vaguely aware of Alicia explaining the situation to Angelina as he walked away, towards the place where Ginny and Harry were conducting a very public row. As in Diagon Alley, people were turning to gawk, but whether it was because Ginny was using extremely coarse language or because the Harry in question was Harry Potter, George could not determine.

"… my friend as well, so how dare you insinuate that I'm here trying to stop you from getting a piece of skirt off Katie!"

"That's ridiculous, Ginny. I don't think that at all, and, what's more, Katie and I aren't even… it's just silly."

"Aren't even what?" she challenged. George reached for her, but neither of them paid him any attention.

"Aren't even here on a-- a date. She asked me if I'd like to come, and I said yes, because I haven't seen Angelina play yet. That's it."

"Is that right? Then why did you look so uncomfortable when you laid eyes on George and I?"

"Because this is an uncomfortable situation! Do you remember what happened the last time I saw you?"

"Of course I remember, you fu--"

"Ginny." George wasn't actually aware that he had spoken her name until she turned her head.

"What is it, George?" she demanded, taking advantage of the lull to cross her arms in front of her.

"Angelina wants to see you."

"You don't have to tell me twice." she said, spinning on her heel and marching away, leaving both of them staring after her. George was getting ready to follow when Harry spoke his name.

"Yeah?"

"I just want to tell you that I'm sorry. This isn't what I meant to happen. Any of it, I mean."

"You don't have to apologize to me--"

"I have to apologize to her. Yeah, I tried. You saw what it turned into."

George smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah. Look, Harry, I know where she's coming from, because she's talked to me about it. But I'm not going to sit here and pretend that, ultimately, she was the one who made the decision to end things. I appreciate the fact that you love my sister."

Harry winced as though the words were painful. "Thank you."

"But I know that she's hurting too, and it was stupid of you to show up here today with Katie Bell, of all people, who's fancied you since the day Oliver Wood pushed you out onto the Quidditch pitch."

"Why didn't anyone ever _tell _me?" Harry lamented. "And I didn't know you guys were going to be here today."

George shrugged quickly. "I'm just saying. I know Ron's on your side, but-- well, I ain't mad at ya."

"What?"

"Muggle expression. I picked it up on the Underground. Among other things." He stuck out his hand in a friendly gesture. "C'mon, mate, shake."

Harry shook it heartily. "Thanks, George."

"Don't mention it. You've done one or two things for me in our time together."

XxX

Later, as dusk was settling, George stood on the step outside a narrow townhome in a Muggle section of London. He knocked, and waited almost a full minute for Percy to open the door.

"You look awful." he said conversationally as Percy leaned on the doorframe for support. His hair looked greasy, and there were heavy purple shadows around his eyes.

"Penny hasn't been feeling well." he replied, as though this explained everything.

"So what's that got to do with you?"

From somewhere behind his brother, he heard the creak of a door, and a female voice called "Perce?"

George seized the knob and pushed the door open further. At the end of the narrow hall, a pale-faced girl with dark curly hair stood in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown and sweatpants. She looked even worse than Percy did, but this did not strike a sympathetic cord with George.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, staring down at the girl until she turned her head.

"I live here."

"Is that right?" George looked at Percy for an answer. He nodded pathetically. "Well, that's swell. You're going to need to find somewhere to go while I come in and speak with my brother."

"George--" Percy began, but Penelope beat him to it.

"I've been vomiting all day. I'm not going anywhere."

"Maybe you wouldn't have these problems if you hadn't gotten yourself--"

"_George_." Percy said sharply. "You can come in, if you'd like. Penny can stay in the bedroom."

George looked from him to her, and finally nodded. "All right." Percy stood back to let him in, and he strode down the hallway towards the enemy. She hurried away, but just as she reached the door off the kitchen, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at her.

"_Muffliato!_" he called, and pumped his fist as the spell hit her directly in the left buttock. Scowling over her shoulder, she slammed the door shut, and the could hear the sounds of a lock being pulled. George turned, satisfied, to his brother. "Good to see you, Perce."

"Do you want to sit?" he asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table and indicating the other chairs. George nodded and dropped into the chair across from him. "What brings you here?"

"Just saying hello. Are you doing all right?"

"As good as can be expected, I would say."

"Is that cowbag telling me the truth-- she lives here again?"

"She is currently residing here, yes."

"Why?"

Percy waved his hand dismissively. "It's complex."

"Oh yeah? Try me."

He sighed deeply. "She doesn't really have anywhere else to go."

George waited for more of an explanation. When one was not offered, he cocked an eyebrow at Percy. "Well? What else?"

"That's all."

"Yeah right. If Rodolphus Lestrange gets out of Azkaban, he isn't going to have anywhere to go-- you gonna let him stay here?"

"Obviously not."

"So, then, why? You're obviously not doing it for the sex."

Percy flushed. "There is more to a relationship than sex."

"Spoken like a true virgin."

"Have you only come here to make snide remarks, George, or do you actually have a purpose?"

"Making snide remarks _is _a purpose, Percival. Plus, I came to see if you have any more of that Scottish whisky that I had last time I was here."

George was pleased to see his brother fighting back a smile. "I was wondering what had happened to it-- there's a couple of fingers missing."

"More like a fist." George said with a grin as Percy got to his feet and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. He finally returned with a bright green bottle and two glasses, one of which he set down on the table in front of George.

"Ice?"

"Are you new?"

"Certainly not." He twisted open the bottle and poured a generous amount into each glass.

"I didn't think you, of all people, would drink the Muggle stuff." George lifted it to his nose, sniffing in the smoky aroma with relish.

"It gets the job done."

"Ah, he is a true Weasley. Bottoms up."

The whisky traced a line of searing heat from his lips to his stomach, where the warmth began to seep through the rest of him. He swallowed again and set down the glass, watching as Percy took his second belt with a poker-straight face. His brother was obviously no proletarian imbiber.

"More?" Percy held up the bottle.

"Not yet. So, do you do this often?"

"What?"

"Sit around your kitchen table with a bottle of Laphroaig?"

"No." He hesitated. "Not since Penny moved back in."

"Ahhhh."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that it makes a little bit more sense now. You know, if you're lonely, you could go hang out with Mum, instead of playing Daddy to children that don't belong to you."

George expected Percy to get angry at this statement, but he just sighed and poured himself another few centimetres of whisky. "Maybe so. But Mother has so many questions."

"Isn't that the truth. I imagine that, in this situation, _you _get to be the one with the questions."

"No. Not really."

"Not _really_?"

"I assume that you mean, do I ask her questions about her… dalliances?"

George nodded. "Yeah."

"We don't discuss that."

"What do you mean, you don't _discuss _that?"

"Precisely that. We had a conversation about what is expected before she returned home. Now, we don't feel the need to dredge it up."

"But don't you want to know--"

"George, what exactly do you think I'd want to know?"

He found himself at a loss for words, just looking at the man who sat across from him. It looked like Percy, albeit a pale sort of Percy with dark circles under his eyeglasses, and it sounded like Percy, with very Percy-esque clipped tones and a formal cadence of speech, but it did not really seem like Percy. When they were younger, he never would have imagined the Head Boy would be in this situation, living a lonely life in a Muggle flat, seeking solace in distilled spirits and an unfaithful companion. It made him sad.

"Don't feel sorry for me." Percy said quietly, as if reading his mind. "This is what I deserve."

"What? How could you think that?"

"I abandoned my family. I denied Voldemort's return. I accepted everything the Ministry said at face value, and regurgitated it happily at every opportunity that presented itself. I tried to convince people that Harry was disingenuous--"

"It doesn't matter now, Percy, you came around--"

"I killed my brother." His voice was barely above a whisper.

George goggled at him. The kitchen was deathly silent, only the subaudible humming of the light fixture above breaking the stillness. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cloth. Finally, he was able to swallow and find his voice. "What? What did you say?"

"I killed my brother. I killed Fred." Percy's eyes were closed now, his voice an undertone.

"How can you possibly think that?"

"I came back."

"But--"

"If I hadn't come back, he wouldn't have been in that hallway. He would have been with you and Lee and Bill, far away from the spell and that wall." From beneath his scrunched-up eyelids, a tear leaked out and down his cheek.

"Percy--"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, George. I'm sorry."

With ice in his veins, George got to his feet and stumbled around the table, where he slammed his hands on Percy's shoulders and shook him. "You stop. Stop this right now." He shook him again, fighting the urge to be sick. "You can't possibly think this. You can't. I won't let you." Again, a shake. Percy's glasses bounced on his nose. "Rookwood killed Fred. For Godric's sake, Percy, it was Rookwood. No one else. Certainly not you."

Percy finally opened his eyes and looked up at George. "Do you forgive me?" he asked in a cracked voice. "Please, do you forgive me?"

George hauled Percy to his feet and flattened him into a hug. "There's nothing to forgive." he said gruffly. "But if it's important to you, then yes, I forgive you. For any mental thing you're still carrying around with you, I forgive you.

XxX

Late that night, George let himself into the flat and climbed the stairs, bone-weary but feeling good. He and Percy had played a few rounds of Exploding Snap and given the rest of the Laphroaig a good home. Then Penelope had finally come out of the bedroom and all but literally kicked George to the curb.

"You're home late." Ron was laying on the couch, paging through _Flying With The Cannons_. Pig looked up sleepily, then tucked his head back under his wing.

"I stopped by Percy's. You're home early." he replied, dropping his coat over the arm of a chair.

"Hermione's going to her cousin's bridal shower tomorrow. They have to leave early."

"You're not going?"

"Are you barking? You couldn't pay me enough to go to one of those things. Anyway, I'm not invited. Ladies only."

"She's going. So you'd go, if you could."

"That's debatable."

George yawned and stretched. "Do we have anything to eat?"

"We have an onion."

"Anything else?"

"There were some biscuits, but I ate them. They were pretty stale."

"Hmmm. Fell like getting some take-away?"

"Sure. If you're paying."

"Paying? Didn't I just give you an extra twenty Galleons?"

"You did indeed."

"Well quit being so cheap!"

"It's not that-- I spent it."

"Oi, all of it?!"

"Yeah."

"On what, may I ask?"

Ron sucked on his lower lip, apparently indecisive. Then he got to his feet and went into the office. Perplexed, George followed him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, watching as Ron opened the closet and began to root through a container of discarded merchandise prototypes. One of the original Decoy Detonator models fell onto the carpet. Finally, he held up a small box of deep aubergine velvet. "What…?"

He flipped it open and held out his hand. George's jaw dropped and he grabbed it from Ron's hand, holding it up to his face in disbelief. Inside of the tiny box, tucked in a nest of smooth ivory satin, was an antique gold ring with a beautiful square diamond. "It's for Hermione." Ron said gratuitously.

"No kidding, I thought you wanted to take our relationship to the next level." George retorted, but smiled at the younger Weasley. "Did you get this today?"

He nodded. "I asked Verity to watch the shop while I went over to Arglebargle's Fine Jewellery. I hope you don't mind."

"Nah. Did Arglebargle give you a deal?

"Three percent off."

"That miserly bastard. We give him ten percent whenever he comes in!"

"It's all right. It's worth it. I've been saving up for a long time."

He nodded. It was a very simple design, but well-crafted. He had a pretty good idea that it must have set Ron back a hefty sum. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed."

"Yeah?"

"Impressed, yeah. Surprised, no. You really love her, eh?"

His face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he beamed even as he blushed to the roots of his hair. "I really do. Like, I for real love her."

George looked back at the ring, the closed the box and handed it back to Ron, who tucked it lovingly into his pocket. He expected that he would see it again soon, sparkling on Hermione's finger. The idea was very comforting, in a strange way. "I'm happy for you. When are you going to ask her?"

"Valentine's Day, I think. Her cousin's getting married the day after, and I thought that maybe she'd want to… ya know…."

"Show it off?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, Ronniekins. First Bill, then Charlie, now you."

He shrugged. "I don't think we'll be getting married right away. At least not for a year or so. She's still getting settled at the Ministry, and I… well…." Suddenly, Ron had a hard time meeting George's eyes.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Well, see, I, uh, I…."

"Out with it."

"I've been thinking of becoming an Auror."

The news did not shock George like he thought it would. Deep down, he'd always expected to find out something like this. Actually hearing the words was rather anticlimactic. "An Auror, huh?"

Ron nodded mechanically. "Yeah. It's always been in the back of my mind, I guess, and the stuff Harry's been telling me… well… ya know."

"I know."

"But, hey, I have to take my N.E.W.T.s first, I might not even qualify. So, ya know, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere yet."

"I'm not worried. I'm happy for you."

"You are?"

"Yeah, Ron, I am. Some would say I might even be a little envious."

"Really?"

"I said 'some would say', not 'I would say.'" he said with a grin. "And Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll pay, but you're going to get this take-away. It's been a long day."

* * *

**Author's Note: **It's hottttttttt outside. Like, 95 degrees. Which perhaps explains why I've been writing for five hours with all the lights off instead of actually engaging in physical activity. I'd like to thank my WinAmp for playing appropriate songs as background music-- when Peter Cetera's "Glory Of Love" came on, I became 99 sure that my computer can read my mind. I do love cheesy 80s power ballads.

ZOMG, there is _one more chapter _left in this story. I'm wigging out. This is probably the longest thing I've ever written, and definitely the longest thing I've ever finished. If JK Rowling was like Ann Rice and didn't let us write fan fiction, my house would be so much cleaner, LOL. I'm currently debating whether or not to end this story in a cliffie (that word always reminds me of _Cheers_) in hopes that people will continue reading, but that seems kind of gimmicky. But I'm not above gimmicky. Oh no, now I'm wangsting. I guess we'll see what happens next week.

Okay, now, I have to tell on myself for a few things. I had a hard time in the last chapter figuring out why Mrs. Black's portrait would stop moving/yelling/etc, but I knew that I wanted to so that it could be moved up to Kreacher's room. I should never have put up the last chapter without explaining how it happened, but I sort of... forgot. I'll hold myself responsible for working out a reason that will be explained in the story-- it probably won't be in the next chapter, but it will come along. Secondly, the song line that I quoted towards the middle of this chapter, that George heard on the underground and uses to sum up why he's pleased not to be in a relationship, is from "99 Problems" by Jay-Z, which did not come out until the end of 2004, and that was in the US. Obviously, this is not canon-compliant, but I found it amusing, so, it stayed. Also, in the first chapter of this story, Verity calls both George and Ron by their first names. I've gone back and corrected that to be continuous with the books, and also so I could use the "call me Mr. Weasley" joke.

I think that's all I have for right now. I must now express my undying gratitude to those delightful readers that reviewed the last chapter: mommato2beauties, WaffleNinja, Spottedfeather, Amaherst, Hyperlily, Leridan, Gray Eyed Beauty and cinroc. sings Oh baby youuuuuu, youuuuu got what I neeeeeed, but you say he's just a friend, you say he's just a friend...


	15. Chapter 15

Something bounced off his head, making him look up with a start. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shop robes as the room came into focus, blinking like he'd just woken up. He found George and Verity staring at him, the former with exasperated amusement, the latter with eyebrow-knitted concern.

"Mr. Weasley, are you feeling all right?" Verity asked.

"He's fine, Verity. Big night tonight, chief?" George asked with a waggling of his eyebrows.

"What?"

George laughed. "Verity's been trying to get your attention for five minutes now. She must've said 'Mr. Weasley' two hundred times, and you were utterly in your own word, happy as a Hippogriff in shi--"

"Did you throw something at me?" Ron asked, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.

"Several things, actually, but I regret to say that my aim was off."

"Oh. Git."

"Welcome to the land of the living, Ronniekins, the land where it's only three o'clock in the afternoon. What time are you meeting the lady?"

"Six." _Gods, it's three o'clock?_, he thought, amazed. The last time he'd looked at the clock, it was going on noon.

"Well, I guess you'd better continue not doing work for another couple of hours." he said, straightening up as a pair of giggling young witches entered the shop. "Hello ladies, Happy Valentine's Day."

The girls looked at each other and dissolved into fresh titters. "Hi."

"What can I interest you in today?" George asked, ushering them further into the store.

The blonde-haired witch nodded encouragement to her brunette friend, whose lips were the unbecoming hue of crabapples. "Do you have any more of those heart things?"

Ron bit back a smile as George feigned ignorance. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific…."

"You know… the ones that turn into knickers when you put champagne on them."

"Ahhh yes. One of our most popular items this year. Follow me, ladies." he said, leading them through the curtain towards the back of the shop, talking nineteen to the dozen on every product they passed. Then Ron noticed that Verity was still studying him closely.

"What's up, Verity?"

"Nothing, Mr. Weasley, I just want to make sure that you're all right."

"I'm fine. I just have some big plans tonight, and I'm worried about them going okay. What are you doing for Valentine's Day?"

"Oh." Her round cheeks took on a pink cast, and she ran a hand self-consciously through her short hair. "My boyfriend is taking me out. He says it's a surprise where."

"That's nice. What's his name again?"

"David, sir. Are you taking Miss Granger out tonight?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm taking her to see a play, and then booked a table at The Fat Duck--"

"Oh!" she clapped her hands excitedly, squealing in a very un-Verity-ish way. "How wonderful! You're going to have such a marvellous time, Mr. Weasley!"

"Have-- have you been there?" he asked, surprised by the reaction he'd inspired.

"I haven't personally, no, but it's where my dad proposed to my mum."

"Oh. Well, it'll be appropriate, then."

Her mouth dropped open. "Mr. Weasley, will you be asking Miss Granger to marry you?"

"If all goes according to plan--" He faltered as she threw her arms around him, jumping up and down. "I… wow."

"Oh, I'm sorry to be so forward, Mr. Weasley, but this is very thrilling."

"Do you want to see the ring I picked out?" he asked hopefully. George had told him it was nice, as had the wizard who's sold it to him, but he figured it'd be a good idea to get a real, live girl's opinion.

"Certainly!"

He reached into the pocket of his robes and closed his hand around the velvet square. "I've been afraid to lose it, so I've had it with me." he explained, pulling it out and flipping open the top. "What do you think?"

As Verity exclaimed over the ring, George and the two young patrons re-emerged from the back room, each girl carrying fist-sized satiny hearts in assorted jewel colours. All three looked pleased, and Ron knew that George was close to unloading his entire supply of the things.

"Oi, what are you doing?" George asked, motioning for his employees to clear out from in front of the counter.

"I'm showing Verity the ring. I wanted to know what a girl thought."

"Oh, are you getting married?" asked the brunette customer, peering over Verity's shoulder. "Wow, that's gorgeous! Look at this, Monica."

The blonde squeezed next to her friend and gasped. "That's really beautiful. Are you going to propose to your girlfriend tonight?" she questioned eagerly.

"Yeah." Ron answered proudly.

"Oh, she must be so lucky!" Monica's friend cooed. "I wish my boyfriend would ask me to marry him."

"To hell with married, I wish my boyfriend was handing out nice jewellery!" Monica replied, looking back at the ring enviously.

"That too." her friend agreed. "But look at this ring! Wow, you must really love your girlfriend."

George caught Ron's eye over Verity's head and surreptitiously mimed gagging. He looked away quickly before he could laugh. "Yeah, she's pretty great."

Eventually, George was able to finish the sale and the two witches left the shop, still talking about boyfriends and engagement rings. Verity drifted dreamily away from the sales counter and was feather dusting every display in sigh, humming very feminine-sounding music as she went. Ron had closed the box and slipped it back into his pocket, where it hung, a comforting presence, just out of sight, as he stood at the counter.

"Why don't you two call it a day?" George suggested a few minutes later.

"Huh?" Ron asked, certain he hadn't heard correctly. "What?"

"How… about… you… leave?" George said very loudly, enunciating each word carefully. "Both you and Verity. I can finish the day by myself, we're only open 'til six. I'm almost out of the knicker hearts too, I might just close up then. No one wants anything else today."

"Oi, are you serious?"

"As a killing curse. Now scarper."

"Oh, Mr. Weasley, you're very kind." Verity said, appearing on the other side of the Pygmy Puff cage, feather duster in hand. "What are you doing for Valentine's Day."

"Lee and I are going to the Leaky Cauldron to make fun of the couples and talk about how happy we are to be single. Oliver Wood might nip over just so people don't think we're… how to say this delicately… _together_. Then we're all three going to find the rowdiest sports pub within walking distance and play drinking games with the Muggles. We'll probably end up at that place on Regent Street-- they play this moronic game called Fuzzy Duck and Lee wins every time."

"That's so sad." she said mournfully.

George just laughed. "Actually, it's about the furthest thing from sad--" He trailed off as a delivery wizard in heavy blue robes came through the door, juggling two very large floral arrangements, one exclusively of pink roses, one of bright orange lilies and a lot of greenery.

"I'm from Spelloflora," he said in a monotone, "and I have a delivery for Verity Howsham."

"That's me." Verity said, tucking the feather duster in the pocket of her robes and coming forward to accept the vase of roses. "Oh, thank you!"

"Happy Valentine's Day." he said, sounding very much like he'd be extraordinarily happy never to utter those words again. "I also have these for a Mr. George Wheezy. Weasley." he corrected, pulling a yellow delivery roster from his pocket. "George Weasley."

Ron pointed to George, who leaned over the counter to take the lilies, looking very confused. "Thanks?"

"Happy--"

"You don't have to say it, mate."

"Don't have to tell me twice. Have a nice day, you lot." he replied, touching his index finger to his forehead and heading back out onto Diagon Alley, presumably with a lot more last-minute arrangements to deliver before supper.

"What's this?" Ron asked, jerking his thumb at the vegetation on the counter. His money was on flowers from Mum. Verity looked up from her roses as well, smiling curiously as George liberated the small white card from it's perch and tugged it open.

"Son of a banshee." He tossed the card down and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, as though he had suddenly developed a very bad migraine.

Ron swiped the card from the counter and turned it over. _To George, _it read, in swirly-looking script_. Here's to seeing what happens by next Valentine's Day. Sorry about what happened at Holyhead-- I was trying to avoid catastrophe. Love, Alicia. _He looked up at his brother, astonished. "Alicia? Alicia Spinnet?"

"Yes." George mumbled, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. "Yes."

"You never told me--"

"There's nothing to tell. She fancies me. I do not reciprocate her feelings. Quite honestly, it gives me the screaming abdabs. But somehow, she has yet to pick up on this."

"What's the problem? She's nice-looking."

"She's all right, yeah. But I've known her forever. It'd be like dating Hermione."

"Hey!"

"You know what I mean. But fine, if it makes you feel better, it'd be like dating Harry. Alicia's part of the furniture up here." He tapped the temple he was currently massaging. "And for the love of Godric, I knew her when Oliver Wood was nailing her."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "When did that happen?"

"Year after we left Hogwarts. He'd just played his first season with Puddlemere. She wouldn't shut up about it. I know things about both of them that I'd have been perfectly happy remaining ignorant of. Fred used to put the Muffliato charm on _us _when she'd get going." He shook his head. "Well, anyway. I thought both of you were leaving?"

"We're riveted to your tales." Ron replied, though Verity was looking a bit glazed over.

A smile appeared on George's face. "As well you should be. But get the hell out of here, I mean it. I'm going to start hexing."

After saying good-bye to Verity and George, Ron slowly climbed the steps to the flat. Pigwidgeon began hooting as soon as his foot touched down on the top step, and he paused by the small owl's cage. "Oi, Pig, you made a mess of your food." He opened the cage and stroked the soft feathers on Pig's back, then fed him an owl nut and went about his business.

A large basket of candy sat on a pile of dog-eared invoices and coffee-ringed _Daily Prophets _on the dining table, the tag addressed to Ron and George, love Mum. He skimmed a few chocolate hearts off the top, chewing mechanically as he stared absently into the kitchen, eyes focused on the tea kettle but really thinking of Hermione-- what she was doing right now, what she was thinking, if she suspected anything more than dinner and a show, if she even expected that. He was pretty sure she didn't. Somehow, that made him more nervous.

Behind him, Pig hooted again softly, startling him out of his reverie. He brushed the chocolate crumbs off of his face with his sleeve, then stripped off his Wizard Wheezes robes and headed for the shower.

"Get a grip on yourself." he muttered to himself, catching a look in the mirror. His face looked pale and sickly, his hair stuck out all around his head like a red halo. _Not good_, he thought, momentarily wondering if he'd be able to charm some scissors to cut his hair. "Quit acting like a nutter." he scolded himself, then turned away from the mirror and hurried into the shower before he could actually convince himself to try anything else.

Following a quick shampoo and shower and a relatively uneventful shave with his old enchanted razor, Ron found himself standing in the twins'-- _George's_, he corrected himself-- office, wearing new underwear and dress socks and staring at a suit of Bill's that hung on the back of the closet door. He'd borrowed it the week before without exactly telling Bill why, though he was pretty sure that he'd managed to figure it out. It looked too big on the hanger, and as he was considering this, he found himself welling up, Fred's funeral in his mind's eye, and how lost George had looked, not only in this borrowed suit, but standing by himself, without his twin at his side.

"Oi." he said, swiping furiously at his eyes, disgusted at himself for his complete loss of control of his emotions. "It's just an effing suit, get yourself together."

Finally, he was able to get himself dressed, though he found he had a bit of trouble with the tie. After three disastrous attempts, he finally just got his wand and charmed the damn thing tie itself. He laced up the overly shiny shoes, then headed back to the bathroom to see about taming his hair.

He swore furiously, but finally managed to get it settled, significantly less unruly than per usual, but not so slicked back that he looked entirely chav. Then, with heart pounding, he turned off the light and turned towards the sitting room. Before he could go back out there, and against his better judgement, he laid his hand on the handle on the door that shut Fred's room off from the rest of the flat. To his surprise, it opened easily.

"Keep an eye out for us tonight, will you, mate? I'd appreciate it." he asked the empty room. The last vestiges of golden late-afternoon light gave the room an ethereal glow that was rapidly fading to dusk. "It'll be nice to know you're around. If I start saying something stupid, you have my express permission to use extreme measures to ensure that I stop. Make a waiter explode, or something." He smiled to himself, picturing a ghostly Fred torching a potted plant in a fancy restaurant, or using the Bat-Bogey Hex on the maitre'd.

Just as he was about to shut the door, he noticed a bunch of folded squares in lurid colours on top of the night table. He picked up the top one, which was very soft and a rather obscene shade of lightning-bolt blue. It was a unicorn-hair handkerchief. Before he was actually conscious that he was doing it, he stuck it into his pocket and left the room, closing the door once more behind him.

He stowed his wand and the ring box in the inside pocket of his jacket, and carefully folded the tickets and a stack of Muggle pound notes into one of the other pockets. Then he gave a quick good-bye to Pig and went back down the steps, locked up the flat, and started across the Diagon Alley, which was beginning to close up for the night.

"Looking sharp."

He whirled around. George stood in the doorway of the shop, grinning at him under the lamp fixed above the doorframe. "Nice hair."

"Does it look bad?"

"No, it goes with your whole… thing. Are you nervous?"

"Of course."

"Don't be."

"I'll try not to be. George?"

"Yeah?"

"What if she says no?"

"She'll say yes."

"How do you?"

"Because I'm a neutral third party, and I know she's stark raving mad about you. You're just totally mental. Now go."

Ron turned to leave, then changed his mind and spun in a circle to face George again. "George?"

"What is it now?"

"I-- I took one of Fred's unicorn-hair handkerchiefs with me."

A shadow seemed to pass over his face, but as quick as it came on, it was gone. "Was it the orange one?"

"The blue one."

"Good. The orange one's mine."

"Are you angry?"

"Nope. Use it to dry her tears when she realizes she's going to become a Weasley."

Ron took a few steps towards his brother and hugged him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything. Now go get me a sister-in-law; I'll need someone to iron my socks." He slapped Ron on the back and watched as he started towards The Leaky Cauldron. Then he went back inside, leaving Ron alone with his galloping heart.

The walk to the house where Hermione rented two rooms from an elderly couple seemed to take bare seconds, though it was full dark by the time he stepped up onto the porch and rang the doorbell. The old woman, whose name he could never remember, opened the door.

"Oh, Rodney, you look very handsome." she said, beaming at him.

"Thank you." he replied, not bothering to correct her.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, no, thank you."

"Certainly, dear. Let me get Hermione."

If this night was a typical night, he'd marvel at the fact that the woman could remember an peculiar name "Hermione" but not something so mundane as "Ron." But these were not ordinary circumstances, and as he stood on the porch, his main concern was that the front of his suit jacket would start moving with each thunderous beat of his heart. His blood rocketed through his veins, a million kilometres a second. Then, all conscious function ceased as the door opened and Hermione stepped out, looking resplendent.

"Hello." she said simply, leaning over to kiss him. Then she stopped, half a yard from his face, looking confused. "You're-- you're wearing a suit."

"Do you not like it?" he asked hurriedly.

"No, no, you look wonderful, but… Ron, where exactly are we going?"

"I have tickets to Shaftesbury, and then dinner reservations at The Fat Duck."

Her mouth dropped open. "Ron! How wonderful! But-- but I can't wear this!" She looked down in horror at her quilted coat, tailored navy pants and plain white blouse. He thought she looked lovely, but she seemed to disagree. "What time is the show?"

"Seven."

"Can you come inside for a moment? I have to change."

"You look beautiful."

She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. "You're sweet. But you're dressed up, and tonight is a special night, and I want to look as good as you." She backed up and he stepped into the foyer. The elderly couple both stood in the doorway to the sitting room, smiling happily as Hermione leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you." she said to him, then turned to her landlords. "Mr. and Mrs. MacLeod, I'm going to go upstairs and change. Is it all right if Ron stays here for a minute?"

"Of course!" Mr. McLeod said jovially. Hermione trotted up the stairs and out of sight, and Ron stood uncomfortably on the mat just inside the front door. He smiled at the MacLeods, who just smiled back. The seconds ticked by, achingly slow, until finally she reappeared on the steps.

Mrs. MacLeod exclaimed over her dress, but Ron was wordless. In the moments it took for her to make her way down into the foyer, it became extremely clear to him why men would gladly leap into the sea to follow a siren.

Hermione looked something from a painting, or some delirious dream. Her dress was a deep berry colour, knee-length, full-skirted, strapless, but there was more than just what she wore-- the way she had swept her hair up, the graceful curve of her neck and shoulder, how she moved in her delicate black shoes, her slender hands clasped around a narrow black purse, the way her lips were parted in a shy smile, the way her eyes were trained on his.

"What do you think?" she asked, turning in a slow circle.

"You look… radiant." he said, voice thick in his throat.

"Here, dear." Mrs. MacLeod said, bustling over with a long black wool coat. "You'll need something to keep you warm, but you can't wear your ski jacket with that."

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione replied, slipping her arms into it. "That's very kind."

"Our pleasure, love. Have a good time."

Ron, who was rooted to the spot up until this point, rushed forward to open the door for her, and together, they stepped out into the night. Behind them, the MacLeods waved, still smiling happily.

"Where did you get that dress?" Ron asked as they started up the road. "It's amazing."

"Well, I'm glad you like it." she said, sounding discomfited. "Because you'll be seeing it again tomorrow."

"What?"

"It's my bridesmaid's dress for my cousin's wedding." she said with an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't exactly have anything else fancy enough."

"It's ace. You really do look perfect."

"Thank you. So do you."

They walked without speaking for a few minutes, the steady cadence of Hermione's heels against the sidewalk fading into the background noise of the city. Her hand was tucked in the crook of his arm, and the simple touch, even through the layers of fabric that separated the skin, gave him goosebumps.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked quietly.

"Fine. Why?"

"You're quiet."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be." She smiled. "I'm excited for tonight."

"Me too." Terrified was more like it.

"I hope you didn't go to too much trouble to plan it. I would have helped."

"No trouble at all."

Her hand squeezed his arm, quickly. "All right."

Anxiously, he checked his watch. Seven o'clock was ticking closer, and he wasn't exactly sure how much longer it would take them to go on foot. Trekking through London like a Muggle wasn't exactly a swift process, and he wasn't exactly sure which way to turn at the end of the street.

"What is it?" she asked a few moments later, after he'd looked at his watch for the third time.

"I, uh--"

"Do you want to Apparate?"

"Really?"

"Of course."

So they ducked into a narrow alleyway, back behind the rubbish bins and a bicycle, and emerged in a similar passage on Shaftesbury Avenue a few moments later, strolling casually into the holiday crowd. Soon, they stood outside the theatre, looking up at the signboard. Light seemed to erupt from every flat surface.

"Oh! _Rent_!" she said happily. "I've heard that this show is exceptional!"

"Great." he said, trying to sound as excited as she did.

Once inside, settled into their seats in the dim hall, Ron was feeling slightly less nervous. Next to him, Hermione was paging studiously through the programme, pointing out interesting bits of information as she read. All around them, the seats were beginning to fill up until, finally, the lights went low and the unseen band struck up. She slipped her hand into his as she turned her attention forward.

Ron knew he was in for a long evening when a line of people appeared on the stage and started singing about minutes. _Minutes_. When twenty minutes had passed and no one had uttered a word that didn't have a melody, he began to sweat again, but this was less from nerves and more from the desire to plus his ears with his fingers.

Next to him, Hermione was rapt, her eyes trained on the stage. She gasped and laughed and smiled and even got teary at regular intervals throughout the show, and was so captivated that he spent most of the first act watching her reactions. She even re-read the programme during the intermission.

Only the fact that she sat in the plush seat, waiting for him to return, kept him from running screaming into the night. He must have stood in the bathroom for the entire twenty minute interlude, washing and re-washing his hands, until finally he trudged back to his seat and braced himself for more theatrics. When the lights went down again and the singing began once more, he tried to hide his wincing from her.

The curtain fell at about the time he was about ready to start climbing the walls. No one had told him that this was a bloody _musical_. And he wasn't exactly sure that he had followed the entire of sequence of events, what with all the singing and the music and the… singing. He thought that perhaps someone had died at the end-- maybe that girl with the hair-- and that she had come back from the dead, or something like that. _Typical Muggle fairy-tale ending_, he snorted to himself.

Hermione, on the other hand, jumped to her feet as the lights came up, applauding frenetically with the rest of the crowd. He watched, amused, as she dabbed tears from the corners of her eyes, then got up to stand next to her and applaud as well.

"Oh, that was wonderful." she sighed happily as he helped her into her coat. "Thank you so much, Ron, I loved that."

"My pleasure."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh. Yes. It was, er, brilliant."

"Wasn't it? That actress who played Mimi… she's exceptional. I wish I could sing like that."

They joined the slow-moving herd of people making their way out of the theatre into the cold February night. Outside the doors, she took his arm again as they started back down the street. He checked his watch, and skidded to a halt when he saw the time. It was almost ten o'clock.

"What, what is it?" she asked, alarmed.

"We missed our reservations." he moaned, feeling panic rising in his throat. "Quick, do you have your Time-Turner?"

"No, I had to give that back after third year."

He swore.

"It's all right, Ron."

"No it's not. Now what'll we eat-- it's Valentine's Day, there won't be a table anywhere."

"Of course it's all right. We can go get take-away, or I can make you dinner. I don't mind at all."

"You don't?"

"Of course not. The show was more than enough. We can spend the rest of the night wandering around London.; as long as I'm with you, that's all that matters." She started walking again, tugging gently on his arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To wander."

For the better part of an hour, they strolled down random streets, talking and laughing and, in Ron's case, keeping an eye out for a restaurant, or at least a picturesque little niche where he could safely get down on one knee. They were meandering through an upmarket residential neighbourhood when he saw what looked like a fountain up ahead. It took a great deal of self-control not to go sprinting towards it. The wrought-iron gate that would separate it from the street stood open, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion that Fred was looking out for him, after all.

The square was minuscule, deserted, and surrounding on three sides by stately brick homes. A dozen topiaries in large urns stood at regular intervals around the fountain, glittering with hundreds of tiny white lights and affording some privacy from anyone watching from the houses.

"Oh, how charming." Hermione said, eyes lighting up as she studied the lights reflected in the moving water.

"It's beautiful." he agreed, but he was not looking at the fountain.

He eased his hand into his jacket and slipped the ring box from his pocket, squeezing it in his palm as he watched her. The light reflecting off the water caught her hair, making it shimmer. At that moment, he heard-- or maybe he imagined that he heard, but it did not matter-- the voices of those he'd lost, in the steady gurgling of the water, encouraging him. He heard Lupin and Tonks offering their congratulations, and, as she reached out and traced the surface of the water with two fingers, Fred telling him that it was about time.

His breath hitched in his throat, and his heart threatened to burst. Almost unable to move, lest he break the spell of this near-perfect moment, he sat down right next to her, watching their reflections in the water.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly, and reached out to take her hand. The pads of her fingers were still wet from the fountain.

"Yes?"

"You know that I love you, don't you?"

"Yes." She sat up a little straighter.

"And you love me too, right?"

"Of course."

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Before he could say the words, though, he became aware of an odd, incessant buzzing sound. "What's that noise?"

She looked distinctly embarrassed. "It's my phone. Let me shut it off." She dug a slender pink phone out of her small black bag. It was quivering of it's own accord. "I'm sorry, I put it on vibrate but forgot to-- that's odd." Her forehead creased in bewilderment as she looked down at the tiny screen.

"What?"

"I have six missed calls from this number that I don't recognize, and they've just called again. Bizarre." She pressed a button. "But no matter, I'll turn it--" The buttons lit up as the phone began to shake and tremble once more. "This is the same number. How strange. I'm sorry, Ron, they must have a wrong number or something-- let me just set them straight so they don't bother us any more. I'm so sorry." She pressed another button and brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Ron tightened his grip on the ring box, as though sheer determination could make the caller go mute and leave them in peace.

"No, I'm sorry, you must have the wrong num-- No, I…. I'm sorry, who?" She turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Well yes, I do know him, but.… And who is this?… Oh yes, I have heard of you, but please, it's Valentine's Day and I'm out with…. What? What did you say?…. You're joking." The seriousness in Hermione's voice caused a strange fear to blossom in his belly. "I see. Well…. No, no, it's no problem. Will you be at this number for much longer?… Oh, your mobile number, of course…. Of course. I'll find him right away. Stay by the phone…. Yes…. Yes, your welcome…. All right, good-bye."

She got to her feet and snapped the phone closed. The look on her face made Ron's dreams of proposing marriage in this wonderful secret place burst hotly like one of Seamus Finnigan's first-year spells. Something had happened, something big. "What's wrong? Is it your parents?" he asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

"Where's your brother?"

This confused him. "I, er... Which one?"

"George."

"Uh, I think he's at some pub with Lee and Oliver Wood. Why?"

"Do you know which one?"

"Yeah, I think so. Hermione, what's going on?"

"I'll explain it all soon." She looked at him sadly. "I'm so sorry. Can you take me to him?"

"But--"

"Please."

"Why--"

"Oh, Ron, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Can you find him?"

He nodded, defeated. "I know you wouldn't. Yeah, come on, let's go."

As she gathered her bag, he slid the ring box into his pocket. As he did so, his fingers brushed the handkerchief he'd liberated from Fred's room. _This had _better _be worth it_, he said inside his head, but whether it was to himself or to Fred, he wasn't quite sure. Neither responded.

Without another look at the place where his life almost changed, he grabbed onto her hands and spun quickly. They appeared in a foul-smelling alley a moment later, mere kilometres and an entire world away from the glittering fountain square. He weaved around the overflowing rubbish bins and out onto the sidewalk.

"There." He pointed across the street, to a brightly lit sports pub.

"Really?"

"I think so."

"Oh, I could _hex_ George." she said in exasperation, and started across the street.

"So could I." he muttered darkly as he followed her.

Inside, it was hot, loud and smoky. It was also packed wall to wall with Muggles-- mostly the young, rowdy type. They started cat-calling and yelling as they caught sight of Hermione in her fancy dress, and laughing when they noticed Ron in his suit. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his hands itched for his wand. Still, he kept his eyes trained on her back as they moved deeper into the pub, not letting himself look at the faces he'd greatly enjoy punching.

"Where are you going, love?" one guy called, leaning off his barstool and watching Hermione walk away. "Come back with my heart!"

Ron skidded to a halt and turned to the Muggle. "I'll take something more important than your heart if you don't shut the fu--"

Hermione's small hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him away as the guy and his friends laughed uproariously. "Come on." she said soothingly, darting around a large man in a cowboy hat. "Ignore them."

"Not bloody likely." he grumbled.

Just when he was sure that he'd been wrong, that George and his friends had gone somewhere else, the crowd parted and he caught sight of a shapely, black-haired girl in a very low-cut red top in the corner. She was perched in the lap of a broad-shouldered bloke, whom she was snogging enthusiastically. The girl looked to be some sort of waitress. The guy was Oliver Wood, and Lee, George, two Muggles in rugby shirts, and a great many bottles were sharing the table with him.

Ron caught Lee's eye, who leaned across the table and said something to George, who whipped around, looking alarmed. "What's going on?" he asked, looking from Ron's grim face to Hermione's concerned one. "What's happened?"

"I need to talk to you. Now." Hermione said.

"Uh-oh, ginger, are you in trouble?" a red-faced Muggle in a backwards hat yelled from the bar. They ignored him.

"What is it?" George asked, looking from her to Ron. "Tell me."

"Not here." she said, tilting her head towards the door.

"All right."

Hermione and George started towards the door, with Ron in pursuit. "Hey, you can't take that outside!" the bartender yelled, pointing to George's beer.

"I'll be right back." he replied, taking Hermione by the elbow and hurrying towards the door. Ron picked up his pace as well, but found the way blocked by two large men arguing, one of whom was wearing what looked like a bed sheet and paper wings, and carrying a toy bow.

"Excuse me." he said angrily, sidling between them and towards the front door, which was just closing behind George.

"Watch it, fancy britches!" the surly Cupid spat, grabbing for Ron's shoulder as he passed.

He pulled away and sprinted for the door, opening it and stepping out just in time to see Hermione speaking quietly to his brother, and to hear the loud _crack _of Geoge's beer bottle hitting the sidewalk, a look of absolute horror on his face.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I succumbed to the cliff-hanger ending. Why? Well, I prefer to think of it not as a cheap plot device, but as a way to keep people interested in reading **the next story in the series**. I've gotten a couple of really sweet messages from folks asking why this is the last chapter. That is because I was feeling ambitious and decided to write a four-part series. This is the last chapter of "Winter", and, next week or the week after (it depends on how much I get done this weekend-- I like to be a chapter ahead of what I publish), I'll put up the first chapter of "Spring". It will pick up a few weeks after where this one leaves off.

That said-- and this really isn't (okay, well, not _entirely_) a plea for more people adding me to their alert list-- I'd like to take the time to remind anyone who is interested in continuing to read the series to keep an eye out for the new story (again, titled "Spring"). This one will not be updated.

By the way, I've never seen _Rent_. That's the show that was actually playing at Shaftesbury in February of 1999, and I wanted to be historically accurate, so I got the information from Wikipedia, and watched YouTube clips of the movie. I can't believe that guy from _Law & Order_ can sing so well. Has anyone actually seen the play, or even the movie? Is it any good?

Can I just say, again, how much you guys rock? I've never written anything this long, and I'm so jazzed that it entertained some really boss people. Many internet hugs to those who reviewed the second-to-last chapter: Hyperlily, Amaherst, cinroc, WaffleNinja and Spottedfeather. I hope to see you guys again in a week or two. wink wink nudge nudge

Enough shameless pandering for awhile, promise.


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